


if you're into it, i'm into it

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: Collection of prompt fills from my kink meme on tumblr.





	1. Steve/Natasha - forbidden pleasures + magical themes

**Author's Note:**

> From [this kink list](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/kinks).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** restraint + orgasm denial + forbidden pleasures + magical themes (sex pollen)  
>  **for:** i-cannot-escape-this-fandom

She bites down on her lower lip, fighting a whimper as she squirms on top of the bed, trying to pull her hands free from where they’d tied them to the bed post. She needs… _god_ , she needs to touch herself, needs to relieve the almost unbearable pressure that’s building between her legs, making her body tingle. She knows she can’t, though. Not without running the risk of spreading the traces of the aphrodisiac still on her hands and somehow making the situation worse. She can hear their voices just outside the room, no doubt discussing the best course of action on how to get the spell out of her system. She feels like she’s on _fire_. They’d stripped her down to her undergarments to try to appease her when she couldn’t bear the temperature anymore, but it’s gotten worse again.

 _God_ , she needs… she _needs_ …

“Natasha?”

She blinks her eyes open, vision blurring into focus as Steve comes to sit on the edge of the mattress. He’s being careful not to touch her, even as he dips a fresh washcloth into the basin of iced water that they’d brought her, gently pressing its cold touch against her flushed cheeks, her neck, her chest. His eyebrows furrow, though she can’t quite tell if it’s in concentration or restraint. She _knows_ how attracted he is to her, and his insistence on keeping his distance because she’s the king’s daughter is annoying at best.

Right now, however, it’s just _so damn frustrating_.

“Bruce is going into town,” he tells her. “Going to see what he can whip up to alleviate your discomfort while we wait for Clint to come back with the antidote.”

She lets out a soft, sharp breath, rolls her hips gently off of the mattress. “Okay,” she breathes, watching his eyes track her motion. He swallows lightly.

“How do you…” He hesitates. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” she hisses. “Steve, I really need you to – “

“Natasha,” he warns, voice strained. “I shouldn’t. I can’t.”

She whimpers, spreads her legs a little wider. The heat is coursing through her and making it hard to _breathe_ , and she just can’t take it anymore. She _can’t_. “It’s too much, Steve,” she breathes out, voice quivering. She watches the guilt flicker across his face. “I’ve held out for as long as I could, but I really, really can’t take it anymore. I can’t touch myself, but you…” She swallows. “You can.”

“Nat,” he says lowly, almost in a whine. She knows that he hates that she’s in this situation, that she’s so uncomfortable, and that’s why she knows that he’s going to cave. He cares about her too much to let her go through this a second longer. “What do you…” He sets the washcloth aside. “Where does it…?”

She rolls her hips, spreads herself even wider. “I need _something_ , Steve.”

“Okay, okay.” It sounds more like he’s whispering it to himself, though, and she feels her heart thump in anticipation when the bed dips. He moves himself to settle between her legs, and she swears his touch shoots right between her legs when he puts his hands on her, slowly tugging her underwear down her thighs and over her calves, slipping them off. He spreads her legs again, his breaths growing quicker, heavier. She watches him lower his head between her legs. “Just – tell me how you want it,” he says, and she whimpers and nods.

And then his tongue is flattening against her nerves, licking a stripe up her wet heat, and a loud moan slips past her lips.

Oh. _Oh_.

She would be more embarrassed by the cry she lets out, but it feels _so good_ to finally be touched down there, and Steve seems to know exactly what to do to fan her flames, her already overheated senses spiraling out of control. He laps at her folds, avoiding her bundle of nerves and making her shake and squirm. She tugs at her bindings, wanting to drag his lips to her clit, but when she tries to tell him what she wants, all that comes out is a quivering moan of his name.

That’s it. _That’s it_. She’s _so close_ –

Then he pulls away, all but gasping for breath, and she _whines_. Why, _why?_

He shushes her gently, giving her knee a little squeeze before lapping at her folds again, and she shudders and rolls her hips. He closes his lips around her little bundle of nerves and sucks once, twice, and _oh_ , she’s there, she’s _right there_ –

He pulls away again, kissing the inside of her thigh. She lets out a huff and blinks her eyes open to find the corners of his lips twitching.

“Just testing a theory,” he says, lowering his head again and lightly licking at her folds, and she whimpers. Her head is spinning right there on that dizzying edge and he seems pretty damn determined to keep her there. He squeezes her thigh, easing his mouth off of her when her breaths start quickening and her legs start shaking, and she lets out another cry when his lips close around her clit.

He sucks once, twice, then flattens his tongue and rolls against it, over and over again, until her nails are scratching at the posts and her spine is arching and her moans are filling the air. “ _Steve_ ,” she cries, white-hot pleasure rushing through her veins as she finally, _finally_ tumbles over that edge, and he keeps working her through it. He tugs and laps at her clit, pushing a finger into her and curling, and she feels herself falling apart on the heels of her first orgasm.

She’s gasping for breath when he pulls away, her body shivering. It’s the first full breath she’s been able to take since touching that stupid concoction. Her body feels a little less like it’s being smothered by flames, and she doesn’t care how stupid she must sound when she lets out a bit of a laugh. _God_. That felt good.

That felt really, really good.

Steve clears his throat, and she glances at him. His cheeks are flushed, and his glistening lips grinning at her like that is enough to make her sex flutter again.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” she breathes, and he gives her a crooked grin.


	2. Steve/Natasha - bodyguard scenarios + tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** bodyguard scenarios + masks + names and address + secret admirers + tattoos + royal 'verse  
>  **for:** bloodredmoon87

Her gown is a champagne paillette Oscar de la Renta that her parents had made for her to wear to the masquerade, and she knows that it must have an impressive price tag. It’s gorgeous, and she absolutely shouldn’t be tossing it onto the floor of her hotel suite like some dress she picked off a rack, but. She can’t really focus on anything other than Steve’s lips on her skin, kissing down the column of her throat, across her collarbone, above the dip of her breasts, his hands fumbling to tug her dress off. There’s something a little more urgent about the way he’s touching her, a little more forceful, and _god_ , does she love it. Steve is a gentleman through and through, but he’s not afraid to be a little rough with her now that he knows she likes it, and he respects her way too much to treat her like she’d break if he made one wrong move.

And, okay. She knows part of his forcefulness has to do with the fact that he’d spent all night hovering nearby while guys kissed her hand and her cheek and blatantly flirted with her, even though she hadn’t made any advances of her own. She wouldn’t, because she’d never, ever do that to Steve. But it’s not like she can come out and tell everyone that the princess is having an affair with her bodyguard.

 _God_. The media would never let her live that one down.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night,” he murmurs against her skin, nuzzling her throat as he backs her toward the bed. He’s still fully dressed in his tuxedo, and she’s in just her lacy bra and panties and her stilettos, and they both still have their masquerade masks tied on, and there’s something incredibly sexy about it. “Wanted to touch you,” he goes on, and then kisses her hard and hot and heavy before she can have a chance to respond. He’s teasing at the lacy waistband of her panties, but when she tries to nip at his lower lip, he lets out this growl from his throat and gently pushes her onto the mattress. His eyes dark and hazy as he shrugs out of his blazer.

She gives him a coy smile, keeps their gazes locked as she lifts her hips and pushes her panties down her legs, tossing them aside. When she goes to undo the straps of her heel, though, he snatches her wrists and holds them in place. Her heart thumps, then almost stops beating altogether when he says, “Keep them on,” in this low, gravelly voice that sends a jolt of heat straight between her legs.

“Okay,” she breathes out, wriggling her hands free of his grip. “But if you get a request, I get one of my own,” she tells him, even though she doesn’t need to. He would give her anything she ever asked for, do _anything_ she ever asked him to do, and not even because she’s the princess. Because he wants to. 

He nods, and she scoots herself higher up the mattress before turning over onto her hands and knees. She glances over her shoulder to find him just – _staring_ at her, his lips parted, and she wishes she’d taken that mask off so she could see exactly how surprised he is. He has a this practiced nonchalance in his expressions, an obvious self-restraint, but his eyes tell her everything and she loves it. Loves being able to see ever flicker of emotion, loves seeing them haze over in lust and sparkle in happiness and shimmer in adoration.

“Well,” she says, voice coming out a little breathless, “if you keep staring at me like that, I’ll start to feel indecent.”

His lets out this gravelly laugh that is so incredibly sexy that she feels a warmth slide down her spine, making her skin tingle. Then a jolt of anticipation shoots right between her legs when she sees his fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt before getting it undone and yanking it off, tossing it onto the floor with a clatter. He’s only ever lets go of that stubborn grip on his composure when he’s alone with her, and she knows she loves it way too much. His careful, articulate tongue is capable of nothing but a string of curses and gruff whispers, and his gentle hands tremble and scratch at her skin and sometimes dig into her hips a little too hard, but _god_ , all she feels is pure bliss whenever that happens.

He tosses his slacks and his briefs onto the floor before climbing onto the bed behind her, and her hips actually jump when he touches her. Normally, she’d be sure to have ripped him out of his shirt by now so she could feel his muscles flex and quiver under her touch, but the pressure between her legs is almost unbearable at this point, and she just really needs him to take care of that.

“ _Steve_ ,” she breathes. He still isn’t touching her.

_Why isn’t he touching her?_

She doesn’t ever demand things of him, but she’s just about to until he’s pressing two calloused fingertips right over her slit and stroking once, twice, three times, making her lips part in a moan. She rolls her hips, her fingers tightening around the duvet cover as he massages over her slick folds. His other hand tucks under the clasp of her strapless bra, snapping it open and letting it fall to the bed. He cups one of her breasts, rolls her nipple between his fingers as he dips his head and kisses the impression that her bra clasp had left in her skin. Then his lips slide lower, and lower, and lower, making her back arch and hips gyrate as his fingertips find her bundle of nerves and start circling.

Oh, _oh, oh –_

She doesn’t realize that she’s whimpering until his breath is warm against her ear as he shushes her gently. “I got you, darling,” he murmurs. He gathers her hair with his free hand, pushes it over her shoulder and then presses a wet kiss to the bared curve of her neck. She’ll come in seconds if he keeps touching her clit like this and he knows this, so it’s _cruel_ , really, that he eases his fingers off and strokes at her entrance just as she’d felt her whole body trembling with her rapidly-climbing high. Then he sinks two fingers into her and she bites down on her lip so hard that she swears she draws blood.

She tries to roll her hips back in time with the thrust of his fingers, but it’s hard to move with the way he’s pressed himself over her, so all she can do is scratch at the material of the duvet and gnaw on her lip to keep from snapping at him.

Her walls are fluttering, and her breath is coming out in sharp, shallow pants as she ducks her head, her hair falling all around her face.

Then his fingers slide out and over her folds again, massaging right over her clit, and he pulls away and dips his head to kiss the small of her back, right where she knows her tattoo is. “My beautiful swan,” he murmurs, and she actually whines his name. Not once could she have imagined that the tattoo she’d gotten of her royal service codename would become a sweet spot for her, but it is, and Steve sure as hell takes advantage of it every single time.

He quickens his fingers this time when her body starts to tremble, but his lips are slow and gentle as he kisses his way up her spine, and it’s these vastly different sensations working in tandem that send her tipping over that dizzying edge. Her arms give out as she unravels at the seams, and she falls forward onto her elbows and muffles her cries in the duvet. Her orgasm crashes over her, making her whole body shudder, but she still finds herself whimpering as her walls flutter around emptiness. Then she lets out this pathetic little sound when he pulls his hand away, even though her body is still trembling in the aftershocks.

She lifts her head from the bed when she feels the mattress dip, glances over to see him retrieving a condom (probably from his slacks), and when he meets her gaze, he _winks_. They’ve done this dozens of times by now, but she’s still incredibly turned on by the sight of him rolling the condom over his hard length. She licks her lips, feels her walls twitch as if in anticipation, even though she’s certain she hasn’t entirely recovered from her orgasm.

It’s ridiculous how much she craves him. How much she _needs_ him.

She sucks in a breath when he grasps her hip with one hand, using the other to guide his length through her slick folds. Fuck _, fuck_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve hisses in her ear, sounding as every bit as wrecked as she feels as he lines up at her entrance and pushes into her. There’s nothing quite like that very first thrust: the way her walls quiver and clench around him, the soft curses Steve mumbles, the way he has to dig his fingers into her skin as if he’d lose every ounce of control if he didn’t. It feels so much better from this angle, too, so much _deeper_ , and she can feel his hot, shallow breaths fanning over the back of her neck as he starts to move. It’s always slow at first, but whether that’s because he’s being careful or because he’s being a _damn tease_ , she could never tell.

This time, however, his pace doesn’t last past the first few strokes, because then he’s groaning and grasping her hips and quickly picking up his rhythm. She can tell by the sounds he’s making that he’s already struggling to hold back, which, _fuck_ , he doesn’t need to do. Not only has she come before him already, but she knows he’d been seconds away from taking her right then and there in the middle of the ballroom after seeing her get hit on all night long. It wouldn’t be the first time he’ll have to bite his tongue through an evening like tonight, and she’s certain it won’t be the last, so long as the public thinks she’s available. She knows sneaking off to have sex isn’t his way of being possessive or marking his territory or some other bullshit like that, either.

He always likes to tell her that _she_ deserves better than sneaking away for a quick fuck, but _shit_. _He’s_ the one that deserves better.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling her legs shake. They probably would’ve given out on her by now if it wasn’t for Steve holding her up. He moans her name and starts peppering her shoulders with wet, open-mouthed kisses, but she shakes her head and actually lifts an arm up to tug her mask off. “ _Steve_ ,” she says again, more insistent, and he lifts his head up, quickening his hips. She has to strain her neck to look over her shoulder to meet his gaze properly, but she doesn’t care, just reaches back and yanks his mask over his head, tossing it aside. His eyes big and bright and beautiful, and the most perfect shade of blue, and she whimpers. It’s the first time all evening that she’s been able to really see his eyes and she hadn’t expected it to affect her so much.

He crashes his lips over hers, kissing her hard and hot and heavy, and she hooks her hand over the back of his neck and kisses him back. Her lungs are burning and so are her muscles from the strain of how they’re pressed together, but it’s a delicious kind of burn, the kind that she knows will make her smile like an idiot when she feels it in the morning.

“Natasha,” he groans, his hands scraping over her skin. “Oh, _fuck_. Fuck. Nat, Nat, _Nat_ – “

“ _Yes_ ,” she murmurs cries his lips. “Let go, Steve. _Please_ , baby, let go.”

She grinds back against him, clenches around his length, and he thrusts into her once, twice, three more times before he lets out a sharp, gravelly cry, yanking his lips back and pressing his face into her shoulder as his orgasm crashes over him. She’s right there, too, and he manages to keep thrusting through the thick of his high to push her over that blissful edge with him. She presses her face into the duvet again and _cries_ , her body shaking, fingers clawing at the material.

She can’t tell how long they stay like this (seconds, maybe even _minutes_ ) before he starts pulling out of her, and she’s so sensitive that she swears it’s almost enough to spark another high. He gently presses down on her hips so that she moves to lie down, and he half-lays on top of her, rolling her onto her side so that her back is pressing against his chest as he wraps an arm around her. She can feel the smooth material of his tie against her skin, the buttons of his dress shirt pressing into her spine, and if she had the energy to, she’d laugh at the fact that he’s still wearing his dress shirt.

He drops his lips to the curve of her neck, pressing a gentle, tender kiss to her thrumming pulse.

“I wanted to dance with you in that ballroom,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. She finds herself grinning. She’s not at all surprised to hear this.

She tucks herself even closer. “Me, too,” she says, looking over her shoulder to meet his gaze.

He traces his fingers over the apple of her cheek as he pushes a few stray strands away. “You looked so stunning, Nat. How could I not want a dance?”

“We’ll get our chance someday,” she tells him. Realistically, she can’t make that kind of promise to him. Not with all of the strings and all of the complications it comes with. But she can see it in his eyes that he believes it, believes _her_ , and that’s all that matters in this moment.


	3. Steve/Natasha - exhibitionism + possessiveness or jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** claiming or establishing ownership + exhibitionism + love and passion + possessiveness or jealousy + Prince Steve and Princess Nat au  
>  **for:** mhysamerica

“You two seemed rather chatty this evening.”

She lets her head fall back against the glass of the elevator as the doors slide shut behind them with a soft chime. All at once, she’s surrounded by Steve: by his broad chest keeping her pressed in place, by the heat practically burning into her skin where his calloused fingers trail under the slit of her dress, by the scent of him filling the elevator, making her head spin. He groans into the curve of her neck when his hand meets bared skin, and he cups her wet heat.

“Well, considering it’s _his_ party, I think he deserves my conversation.” She’d meant it to be teasing, taunting, except it comes out breathless as he gently grinds his hand over her, nudging her foot with his to spread her legs. She glances over her shoulder as the elevator lifts them upward, peering down at the main floor of the hotel. Everything is dimly lit because of how late it is, and there’s not a single person in sight, but still. The elevator is entirely made of glass, and it’s very, very possible for someone to just look over and see them.

It makes her _wetter_ , if possible.

Steve frowns against her throat, then parts his lips and nips at her skin. She gasps, a hand flying up to touch the marks his teeth made. While she knows he’d never really leave a mark, that doesn’t mean he likes to tease her about it anyway.

“He deserves it, huh?”

His blue eyes are dark and storming as he gazes down at her, and her heart falters in her chest, her stomach fluttering.

“He’s an intelligent man. Impressive.” His fingertips pass over her slick folds and quickly find her clit, rubbing gently. Her eyelids fall half-closed as she grasps onto his elbow, her head falling forward against his chest. A few of the medals pinned to his sash graze her flushed cheek, sending a soft but delicious tingle over her skin.

“He’s looking for a wife, I hear.” Then, softer, his breath hot and harsh against her ear, “I bet he’s got his eye on you to be his queen.”

She licks her lips and nods, pressing herself a little more into his chest. His touch is almost gentle, except the slow pressure of it is _maddening_. She can feel the first wisps of her orgasm, her muscles coiling and coiling in the soft pleasure, and the most frustrating part is that he can absolutely make her come just like this if he wants to. He knows how to undo her in _seconds_ , practically.

But he won’t. He’s always particularly torturous with his teasing when he’s jealous.

“You would be bored out of your mind with him, though,” he goes on as he sinks two fingers into her. Her spine arches, her eyelashes fluttering open to meet his gaze. He smirks. “His kingdom is charming, and maybe he is, too.” He lifts his free hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder, then he hooks his index finger under the thin strap of her dress and pulls it over her shoulder, letting the satin material start to fall away from her chest. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and he knows this, and she glances toward the security camera in the corner of the elevator, her heart tripping in her chest.

He raises his eyebrows in a silent question. She bites the inside of her lip and nods ever so slightly.

Smirking a little wider, he dips his head in the same second he pulls her dress down, baring her breast for him to latch his lips onto, sucking her skin. Her head falls back against the glass, and a long moan falls from her lips as his thumb sweeps over her clit. Anyone - _anyone_ \- could call for the elevator and walk in on them in any second, and a burst of arousal unravels in her chest.

He closes his lips around her nipple, lets his teeth graze it as he sucks, and, _oh fuck_. She rolls her hips to meet the curl of his fingers, presses her chest against his lips - and he chuckles softly as he pulls away and bites down on the underside of her breast, making her cry out.

“But even a man as _intelligent_ as him could never hope to know you like I do. Because I know what you like. Because I know _you_.” He slides his lips between the dip of her breasts, presses a soft kiss just above her heart. Then he pulls back and smirks at her. “As _impressive_ as his degrees are, he could never hope to learn your body like I have, because you’d never let him.”

A small sound falls from her lips, and it’s _ridiculous_. It’s ridiculous how quickly he’s worked her up. It’s ridiculous how touched she is by his words.

It’s ridiculous how right he is.

She shakes her head, licks her lips as he pushes her closer and closer to the edge–

And then he pulls his hand away, and she _whimpers_ , her sex fluttering helplessly as she slumps her weight against the glass. She holds his gaze as he brings his hands up to his lips and sucks her wetness off of his fingers, his eyes twinkling as the elevator slows to a stop at their floor. He tugs her dress back into place before the doors slide open, and she feels the soft stings of his teeth marks rubbing against the fitted fabric. She’ll definitely have a few marks in the morning.

He smooths a hand over her hair and then offers his arm, and she slips her hands into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide her as she walks forward and shaking legs. She can feel her arousal wet against the inside of her thighs.

“Your frustration right now is only a taste of what I felt, watching you all evening.” He presses a kiss to her hair, letting his lips linger over her temple as he whispers, “And I plan on showing your body _exactly_ how frustrated I’ve been.”


	4. Bucky/Maria - bar and club scenes + possessiveness or jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** animalistic behaviors and characteristics, dominant + bar and club scenes + love and passion + 117. possessiveness or jealousy (Bucky) + 167. vulnerability   
> **for:** an anon

“Your boyfriend is quite scary.”

Maria tips her head back against Darcy’s shoulder as she laughs, swaying back-to-back with the girl as they’re pressed in the middle of the dance floor. She knows that wherever Bucky may be, his gaze trained on them - on _her_ \- and she feels a shiver of delight ripple down her spine at the thought of those dark, brooding eyes fixated on her, no doubt piercing a glare into every man and woman that even comes close to touching her. It shouldn’t delight her so much, and she’s not quite sure _why_ it does. She never understood why someone would want to feel possessed like some kind of object. Not until Bucky. Because she knows it’s not about having something that someone else doesn’t. He doesn’t see her as some kind of prize and she knows it.

(He just _feels_ so much for her that it pulls at the threads of his control, at his sensibility, and having that delicate hold on someone is strangely thrilling.)

She feels someone grab her wrist, and, for a fleeting second, she thinks maybe it’s Darcy trying to twirl her again - but then the grip tightens around her wrist and yanks her at her, and her first instinct is to shove Darcy out of the way so she flip her assaulter onto the floor. Before she can react, though, she feels something cold and wet hit her shoulder, and she’s hit with the fumes of the dark liquor that was spilt on her as it slides down her front, making her dress stick to her skin.

She twists her wrist free and yanks herself back as a low, rumbling growl rips through the air, and then Bucky is pushing her back into Darcy. Not nearly enough to feel forceful, but enough for him to wedge himself between her and whoever had just grabbed her wrist. She vaguely register the sound of Pietro’s voice gently shushing Darcy, no doubt murmuring something sweet and gentle and reassuring into her ear. But all Maria can focus on his Bucky’s broad shoulders in front of her, the muscles straining against his shirt, his metal arm glinting dangerously under the flashing lights of the club.

He has far more control over himself than he’s had in decades and she knows this.

Still. As much as she doubts he’ll feel sympathetic for some creep who decided he wanted to touch her, she’d rather him not do anything he’ll regret later.

“ _Easy_ ,” she breathes out, knowing he’ll be able to hear her over the noise and music and chatter of the club. She steps forward, presses her lips to the back of his neck as she grasps arms, smoothing her palms up to squeeze his bicep. His muscles are pulled taut, practically vibrating, and she feels a warmth unfurl low in her stomach. She wonders if it’s wrong for her to feel so affected by this. If it’s wrong for her to love it so much when he gets protective of her.

“Are you alright?” He keeps his eyes trained forward, but she feels his body ease against hers ever so slightly.

“Yes,” she promises, kissing his neck again and giving his bicep another squeeze as she tugs him closer to her. “Help me get cleaned up.”

He glances over his shoulder to meet her gaze, his eyes dark and swirling and intense as they drop to her lips, then down to her chest, to the tease of skin bared by the low swoop of the neckline. She knows part of his aggression right now is because of his arousal of seeing her in her little black dress, swaying on the dance floor, and she wants him to focus on that - on _her_ \- rather than his fury of seeing someone putting their hands on her.

After a long moment, he nods, and she slides her hand down his metal arm and twins her fingers with his, urging him forward. He grunts as he shoulders his way past the asshole who’d spilt his drink on her, and he makes their way over to the bathrooms in the very corner. For once, there isn’t a ridiculous queue of people waiting there, and he tugs her into the single stall and locks the door behind them - and then she’s all but shoving him against it, pressing her lips to his. He groans as his arms come around her, pulling her close, and she thinks she’ll never get over how gentle he is. Even now, with his entire body pulled tight, still simmering in his anger, his calloused touch is a soft sweep over the bared skin of her back. His free hand reaches for her wrist, rubbing the pad of his thumb over it, no doubt checking for soreness. But she’s fine and she wants him to know it.

“Focus on me,” she breathes, reaching up to cup his jaw. He pulls back just a little to meet her gaze. Her lips curve. “Take it out on me.”

“Maria–”

She cuts him off with a shake of her head, slanting her lips against his again and kissing him harder, _deeper_. A low growl rips from the back of his throat.  Then she pulls back and narrows her eyes ever so slightly, her tone a little harsher now as she says, “Take control, Barnes.” She slides a hand up his chest, feeling his muscles twitch under her palm. “You’re about to burst. We can’t have that happen around all these people, can we?” She arches an eyebrow, and he swallows lightly, watching a haze fall over his eyes. “Remember? I can handle it.” She stretches on her toes, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “So _take it out on me_.”

His hands come over her hips, turning her around and pushing her against the edge of the counter, and she grasps onto it tightly, sucking in a breath as it bites into her hips. She feels a tingle ripple down her spine and over her skin as she catches his gaze in the reflection, and it’s almost delirious, how _soft_ his expression is as he curves his body over hers, pressing her a little harder against the counter. He lifts his metal hand, drags his knuckles over her cheek.

“We really are made for each other, aren’t we?” He gives her a little grin in the reflection, and it’s ridiculous how this makes her heart skip. “I can’t help but be rough, but you?” He presses his lips to her ear, bites down on her lobe, and her mouth parts in a soft moan. “I think you _love_ that about me.”

Her heart _flutters_ , her grip tightening around the edge of the counter.

“Do I?”

His metal hand slides between her legs, finding the wet folds of her sex, and her body sort of jolts at the cold sensation pressing over her clit.

“Am I going to have to pry the words out of you, Hill?”

She laughs, breathy and shaky, and his smile widens a little more. _Fuck_ , she loves his smile.

“You can certainly _try_ , Barnes.”


	5. Steve/Natasha -  sixty-nine (69) + sports themes and fetishization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** foreplay + heat + sixty-nine (69) + sports themes and fetishization + tattoos   
> **for:** xo-stardust720
> 
> also inspired by [this photo (mild nsfw)](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/173136363226) and set in the [hockey 'verse](http://evanzski.tumblr.com/post/171771371984/chalantness-evanzski-chalantness-pro)

She hears him chuckle as the bed dips behind her, and she pauses her finger over the track pad of his laptop, glancing over her shoulder at him. He’s just come out of his shower, his hair damp and and sort of falling over his forehead and his boxers riding low on his hips as he reclines against the mountain of pillows he’d piled against the headboard. There are dozens of thin, silver scars scattered across his chest, and a fresh bruise coloring just under his ribs from his game a few days ago, and she licks her lips a little, the urge to run her tongue over every jagged line just as she had last night.

“Something funny, Rogers?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

He reaches forward and trails his fingers along the curve of her ass, and she bites on the inside of her lip as he raises his eyebrows at her. “Just thinking that it’s funny I’ve never noticed this before,” he says, rubbing a calloused fingertip over the small swan silhouette she knows is tattooed on her skin.

“Well, I imagine you were occupied with other things when you bent me over the counter an hour ago,” she drawls, shifting her leg a little in a way she knows will accentuate the curve even more. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, his fingers pressing against the tattoo a little harder.

She’s deliciously sore - _all over_ \- and she knows she shouldn’t be pressing her luck. And it _is_ pure luck that the weekend she’s visiting Maria in Boston fell on the weekend that Steve and the team are in town to play the Bruins. There was really no question that she’d spend his one night in town at his hotel room, and considering amount of celebrating they’d done, he should turn in soon. He has to fly out in the morning, and then play shortly after they land in Minnesota; he should be going to sleep, not looking at her like he wants to fuck her into the mattress again.

She’s not even sure if she could handle that again, but her skin tingles at the thought, a soft warmth shooting down her spine and right to her core. She knows he sees the shift in her eyes, too, because he sits up a little straighter. He slips his hand under the hem of his jersey that she’d pulled on after her shower; even then, it was only because room service dropped off their dinner and Steve insisted she put something on, or he’d get too distracted by her to eat. She hadn’t noticed how stagnant the air is in the room until just now, with the way the warmth is smothering her skin. The fact that Steve is practically radiating heat isn’t helping anything, and she shifts again, rolls her hips ever so slightly against the pillow tucked under her hips. She hears him groan.

“ _Steve_ ,” she breathes, because she knows what the nonsensical swirls of his fingers mean. He slides his hands higher up her spine and slips them over her spine, tickling over the spot just under her left rib that drives her _crazy_. She moans, rolls her hips again. “We - _can’t_. Steve, you have a flight.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane.” He brushes that spot again, and it’s ridiculous how much that turns her on. She wonders if that’s always been a sensitive spot for her and he was the first to find out, or if it’s a sensitive spot _because_ he was the first to find it. She can’t ever remember being touched there and reacting like this, but with Steve, the reaction is _instant_. Like it’s his spot. “Come here, Nat.”

“Steve.” She laughs. “You need some self control.”

He chuckles, and then she gasps as his hands gently but firmly grasp at her thighs, maneuvering her over his chest. She braces herself on the palms of her hand as she stares back at him over her shoulder, and he chuckles, drawing her hips over his head as he slides himself flat against the mattress and kisses the inside of her thigh. His tongue flicks up, swipes through her folds, and, _fuck_.

When did she get so wet?

“Self control was not shoving you up against the wall as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom in my jersey,” he tells her, his fingers curling around her thighs and lowering her sex closer to his lips. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her. Then his tongue flattens against her again, slower and harder, lingering on her clit, and her hands slide against the sheets as her head falls forward against his pelvis. Oh. _Oh_.

She’s not quite sure if it’s because of the change in position, or because she’s come four times in five hours and now everything is ridiculously sensitive, but she already feels the first tastes of her orgasm sliding down her spine. She whimpers as his tongue slips into her entrance and curls, and she twists the sheet with her fingers, her thighs tightening as she tries in vain to resist rolling against his lips.

He groans, shifts a little underneath her, and she releases her grip on the bed to grasp his boxers and push them down his hips, baring his hard length to her. She’ll come too quickly at this rate, and as far as distractions go, this is one she quite enjoys. She curls her fingers around the base of him, licking along the length, and he groans again - harder and longer, vibrating right against her clit.

His fingers dig into her thighs, not enough to hurt, but just enough for her to suck in a gasp at the sensation, but then his tongue is curling over her again and licking long and slow and her body _shakes_. It’s delirious, how he can be rough one second and then gentle the next, and she has no idea how he can keep everything in check all the time. He’s completely in control when he’s out there on the ice - every slam of his body is angled and precise, every move he makes is purposeful - and even when he’s fighting, it’s fluid, with no blunt punches or wasted hits. He always seems to know how much to push, how far to take things, and _fuck_ if she doesn’t love it.

She kind of loves this a little more, though. Loves the way his every muscle tenses when she closes her lips around him, taking him as deep as she can. Loves the way his body is practically vibrating with restraint, and it’s _delicious_ when she moves over him, sucking a little harder and harder with every jerk of his hips. He taps the back of his throat when she digs her nails into his pelvis and she moans around him, taunting him, pulling at the threads of his control.

She _loves_ it when he loses control, mostly because she loves how easily he does it with her.

She loves that he lets go with her.

His lips close around her lips and sucks gently but firmly, and he pulls a hand off of her thigh and sinks two fingers into her, curling. She arches her spine as she pulls her mouth off of him in a gasp, dissolving into a broken mess of moans as he curls and sucks, quickly pushing her toward that dizzying edge–

Then her body coils tightly, her nails scraping over the dips of his abs as she tosses her head back and starts to fall apart at the seams. Her orgasm bursts over her, white-hot pleasure making her feel flushed, making her skin slick underneath the rough material of her jersey as it rubs against her. His fingers gently squeeze the inside of her thigh, soothing her as she rides out the waves of pleasure, except his tongue hasn’t let up its pressure, hasn’t broken its rhythm, and it drags everything out even longer.

She falls forward as she she starts to come back down, and she knows she should stop to catch her breath, but she grasps at his length again instead and licks up to his tip before taking him back into her mouth. He groans against her oversensitive folds, making her shiver. She scoots herself higher so she’s sitting up a little more, and his groan is louder this time, echoing through the air as he hits the back of her throat again.

“Nat,” he breathes, a touch of worry in his voice - because he’s always worried that he might hurt her, even though it’s a ridiculous thought and she knows he won’t, _ever_ \- but she cuts him off by dragging her nails down the crease of his thighs, making his hips jerk off of the bed.

Then she pulls her mouth off of him and glances over her shoulder at him. His eyelids are half-closed, his lips parted and slick with her release.

And _fuck_ if that doesn’t turn her on all over again.

“You’ll sleep on the plane, remember?” Slowly, she drags the nail of her index finger up his length - from his base all the way to his tip - and she feels his body tense even more, if possible, his neck flexing as he swallows hard. She smiles sweetly. “Which means we have six hours left until your flight.” Holding his gaze, she wraps her fingers around him and rolls her thumb over his tip to spread the wetness there. “I want to see how long it takes me to snap that control of yours that everyone goes on about.”

He laughs, low and gravelly, his chest rumbling underneath her, and she’s sort of smiling like an idiot as she lowers her lips to him again, but she doesn’t care.


	6. Steve/Natasha - baths and water + massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** barebacking + baths and water + gentleness + massage + nipple play or torture + seduction + striptease  
>  **for:** sherlocchio and an anon

“Well.” Steve crosses his arms, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door as he grins at her. “That’s quite a sight to come home to.”

She hums, sinks a little lower into the warm, sudsy bathwater as she arches an eyebrow at him. “Me, or the bath?” she teases, lifting her leg and propping her ankle over the edge of the tub. His eyes slide down her calf, lingering on where the bend of her knee disappears into the water, almost a palpable press over her skin. He’s looked at her dozens and dozens of times, but she still can’t quite get over the way it feels, the way her skin tingles and her heart picks up ever so slightly. His gaze is always so adoring, so _tender,_ even now, with the haze of his arousal swirling intently in his eyes.

“One of those things excites me more than the other.” His lips twitch at the corners. “But don’t feel bad. Baths have always been my favorite.”

She smirks. “I may forgive you for that comment if you get in here with me,” she tells him, reaching up to hook her fingers over her shoulders. “Training recruits has been a bitch on my back, and those hands of yours may as well do _something_ for me tonight.”

His eyes flash as he lets out a chuckle, leaning off of the door frame. “Watch it, Romanoff,” he says, his voice firm, though she knows there’s not an ounce of force in his tone. He pulls his shirt off and over his head, and she lets her gaze trail across those broad shoulders and then down the hard dips of his chest as he grasps onto the front of his jeans. She knows if she glances back up at his face she’d find him smirking, so she stubbornly keeps her gaze forward as he unclasps the button of his jeans and hooks his thumbs over the waistband. 

Slowly - way too _fucking slowly_ \- he starts pushing it down his hips, and she bites on the inside of her lip as he bares his already hardening length. She would tease him about it, except he’s been in Berlin for three days and she’s been itching to touch him again, for him to touch _her_. That’s far from the longest time they’ve spent apart, but, _shit_. That’s kind of the point.

She’s tired of having to be away from him, and she’s damn well going to savor every second they have together.

He steps out of his jeans, and she shifts herself forward in the tub, making room for him to climb in behind her. He pulls her between his legs, feels his length pressing against the small of her back, but before she can reach behind herself and wrap her fingers around it, Steve has his hands on her shoulders and digs the pads of this thumbs in. She lets out a _moan_ , leaning back into his touch, and she feels his lips press into the back of her head in a kiss as he starts gently massaging her shoulders. _Fuck_ , that feels good.

“Shit, Nat,” he breathes, no doubt feeling how tautly her muscles are pulled together. He gathers her damp hair in one hand and pushes it over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her bared skin as he presses his fingers a little bit harder. “You can’t just overwork yourself because you miss me so much.”

She laughs a little, knowing he’s partly teasing her. But they both know that his words ring a hell of a lot truer than you’d think. She _had_ missed him, and she kind of really hated coming home to an empty apartment, an empty _bed,_ and it was easier to distract herself by staying a few extra hours at the Facility, or taking on an extra training session or two with the new recruits. She knows that it was the same for him, too. She knows he’d probably thrown himself into his work and his meetings with Nick and Tony in Berlin; she could tell by the slight rasp of his voice during their calls.

“Well, maybe you should stop leaving since it’s so bad for my health,” she retorts, and he chuckles because he knows that she’s teasing.

(Well, half-teasing.)

“My apologies, ma’am.” He kneads her skin as his fingers trial down, circles his thumbs underneath her shoulder blades, and her spine arches ever so slightly as her lips part. Fuck. _Fuck_. It hurts just a little bit, but it’s delicious, too, the way the firm press of his fingers soothes the tension coiled in her muscles. He always knows the perfect amount of pressure to put, when she can take just a little bit more and when she needs him to be gentle.

And she’s so distracted by how amazing it feels that it takes her a half-second to realize that he’s slipped one hand around to cup her breast, making her gasp as his fingers gently tug at her nipple. She grasps at the edges of the tub with her hands, curling her fingers as he starts to roll her nipple with his thumb. The hand on her back slides lower, lower, slipping over her side and brushing over the sensitive spot just under her ribs. Her body jumps a little, and then his lips press to her ear, murmuring, “I’ve got you, Nat.” He brushes that spot again, and again, making her stomach flutter, making her body tremble ever so slightly. She’s not sure if it’s because he hasn’t touched her in days, or if it’s the tingling heat of the bathwater, or if it’s just because of _him_ , but everything feels a little bit overwhelming.

“ _Steve_ ,” she breathes, and she feels him pause for a moment, giving her nipple another tug.

“Already?” She knows he’s not being an ass right now. “Your back–”

“Is fine,” she finishes, already starting to turn over, and his hands grasp her hips to steady her as she moves to straddle him. Water sloshes over the sides and spills onto the tile, but she doesn’t care right now. His length is hard as it presses against the inside of her thigh. She grasps his face in her hands and draws his lips to hers, presses her folds against his length and drawing a groan from his throat as she rolls her hips. He rolls over her clit, making her body shake, making her walls flutter. It’s stupid how much she _needs him_.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice quivering ever so slightly, and she’ll never, ever get over the little thrill she gets when his voice gets this gravelly and shaky. He reaches between them, guides himself to her entrance, and the hand still on her hip tightens as she starts to sink over him. “ _Nat,_ ” he groans, sounding every bit as overwhelmed as she feels to have him stretching her, pressing against her every nerve.

She tips her head back a little, her eyelashes fluttering closed as he fills her, deep and delicious and _delirious_ \- and then she’s sucking in a gasp when she feels his lips close around one of her nipples, sucking gently. She’s so, so sensitive right now - she always is when they’ve been apart, even if only for a few days - and she knows he’s doing it on purpose. He’s soothing the ache in her muscles with pleasure, making her head spin, making her senses hum, and she grasps onto his hair and twists it in her fingers.

She rolls her hips, her sex aching, her body itching to feel him, but his hands keep her in place, and she feels him smirk against her breast when she lets out a frustrated huff. He nips at her skin, then places a kiss over it.

“Easy now, love,” he murmurs, and her sex flutters around him, her body quivering. “It’s been three days, and I’m going to take my time to make up every second up to you.”

Then he latches onto her nipple again, lifting her off of him, almost all the way to the tip, and she _whimpers_ as he slowly sinks her back again.

 _Fuck_. If this is the pace he’s going to set, she’s going to be _wrecked_ by the end of the night.

(She’s really, really looking forward to it.)


	7. Bruce/Selina -  teasing + make-up sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** cunnilingus + gentleness + love and passion + make-up sex + teasing   
> **for:** two anons
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/172766553189) and [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/171203103957) (nsfw)

“Selina.”

She ignores him, rolling onto her back and stretching her body out across the hotel bed. Her muscles are deliciously sore, the sunlight from windows warming her bared skin as she kicks the sheets off from around her. She doesn’t entirely remember them making it off of the floor last night, let alone ending up upside down on the bed somehow, with her feet kicking at the pillows and the duvet half-falling off of the mattress. She can hear Bruce walking around the suite, no doubt picking up the clothes that they’d tossed across the floor in their haste.

Well, in _his_ haste, seeing as he’d been too impatient to properly unzip her dress and preferred tearing at the seam to get it down her hips instead.

“ _Selina_.” He piles their clothes onto the armchair in the corner, and she tips her head back to look at him. He’s already half-dressed for his meeting - this _damn meeting_ which is the only reason why they’re here in Metropolis, rather than on their flight to Santorini. Something she’s still not done being pissed about, and her torn dress is just another reason for her to be annoyed by all of this.

And, okay. She knows this little business isn’t _really_ interrupting their plans. They may have had to push back their trip by a couple of days, but tomorrow night they’ll still be in Greece, and she knows Bruce will pamper and spoil her rotten every second they’re there. As if he doesn’t do enough of that already. She’s not taking any of this for granted.

She just wants to have her fiance to herself for a _week_. No calls, no meetings. No late night interruptions. No change in their plans.

 _Nothing_.

She knows Bruce wants that, too, even if he’s trying to be so damn diplomatic about his responsibilities, about having a company to run and a city that needs him. He’s not the kind of person who can just turn his mind off to what he feels is his duty, and she _loves_ that about him. She does. But that’s also why she’s pushing him so much about this vacation. All of their little birds can take care of business while they’re away, and if anyone deserves to just pick up and leave it’s Bruce. He’s just too selfless to take it for himself.

(But that’s fine. She’s absolutely comfortable taking things for him.)

“I’ll only be gone two, three hours,” he tells her, reaching up to fasten the top buttons of his shirt. His collar is crooked, the cuffs of his sleeves undone, and she bites the inside of her lip to distract herself from ripping it off of him.

Damn this man for looking so sexily rumpled.

“Promises, promises.” She lifts her hand and pretends to examine her manicure, except she’s distracted by the way her engagement ring glistens against the sunlight. She wonders if she’ll ever get over the little flutter of warmth that unfurls in her stomach whenever she sees it. “If you’re not back in three hours, I’m perfectly fine with taking the jet and leaving you here.”

She hears him chuckle, hears him walk toward his suitcase in the corner and flip it open, rummaging inside for a moment before walking back to her. She keeps her eyes trained stubbornly on her nails, but then he grasps her wrists with one hand, making her eyes snap up to his in surprise. She already has her eyes narrowed in a glare, except her expression sort of slips at the corners when she notices the long string of pearls in his other hand.

“No, you won’t,” he counters, pulling her hands a little closer together and looping the pearls around her wrists. She blinks, watching him wind the pearls together, as if trying to tie her with it, except it’s too loose and too delicate to even hope to hold her. His lips twitch at the corners, his nonchalant expression slipping in his urge to smirk at her. “You won’t have anyone to bother.”

She laughs before she can quite catch herself. “Oh, trust me, Mr. Wayne.” She arches an eyebrow. “I’m sure I can find a willing partner.”

“I think you mean _victim_ , Mrs. Wayne.”

“Miss _Kyle_ ,” she corrects, even though her heart skips in her chest _every time_ he calls her that. It’s so damn ridiculous, what this man does to her.

He doesn’t answer, just draws her hands to his lips and kisses the spot on her finger above her ring, and there’s that little flutter low in her stomach again. Then he releases her wrists, letting her draw them back to her chest as she watches him brace a hand against the mattress as he leans over her. He hooks a hand over her thigh, pries her legs apart, and she doesn’t realize that she’s holding her breath as his tongue ghosts over her sex. It’s a gentle lick, almost ticklish, and it’s such a contrast from the bruise of his fingertips last night - from the bites he’d left up and down her neck, her legs, her breasts, and from the burns of the rug on her back as he’d fucked her into the floor - that it makes her quiver.

He licks her again, a little firmer, though not by much, and her spine arches. She wiggles her wrists, but the first strain of the thin string of pearls makes her pause, not wanting to snap them apart. She knows that this had been his point.

She bites harder on the inside of her lip, stifling a moan as his tongue laps at her, lingering over her clit before sliding down and dipping into her entrance with _every stroke_. She twists her body, trying to roll her hips, but he sucks at her clit and presses down on her thigh, urging her to stay still. The fabric of his dress shirt is grazing her nipples as she moves, his tie ticking the flat of her stomach, and somehow it’s too much and not enough all at once.

He groans, the vibrations making her sex tingle, making her hips jump. He sucks at her a little harder, his tongue pressing a little firmer, and she can feel the first wisps of her orgasm coiling around her. He knows how to work her up - knows exactly where she’s most sensitive, most reactive - just as he knows that him being gentle is the perfect _tease_ to her.

Because as much as she loves it when they’re rough, it’s _this_ side of him that gets under her skin the most. This gentle, ticklish, teasing touch that disorients her, softly but quickly unraveling her at the seams. It’s always amazing to her how tender this man can be despite everything he’s endured - maybe even _because_ of it - and it draws it out of her, too. Draws this vulnerability that she thought she’d hate because of how hard she tried to ignore it in order to get by.

But she loves it. She loves that she has this with him.

She loves _him_.

“Bruce,” she breathes, reaching up and pressing her palms flat against his chest, needing to touch him, needing to hold onto something. She scratches at his shirt, knowing that he won’t have time to change after this - not if he plans on pushing his meeting back even further - and it’s driving her crazy, not really being able to touch him. 

She feels the pearls slide a little further down her arms, making her every nerve tingle as they press into her skin.

Her spine arches off of the bed, her body twisting as a long moan falls from her lips, and then his lips circle around her bundle of nerves. He can tell that she’s close, and latching onto her clit is the quickest way to push her over that edge. He sucks gently, once, twice, three times, and she whimpers as the white-hot pleasure bursts over her, crashing over her in waves. His tongue slides over her pulsing sex, riding out her orgasm with her. She can’t move her wrists and she can’t grasp onto him, and it’s driving her _crazy_ , making her tremble as she falls apart underneath him.

He groans as he pulls his mouth off of her, kissing the inside of her thigh as she slowly sinks back down from her high. Her body is humming, her mind hazy.

He pulls away, hooks an arm around her and lifts her up. Her muscles feel a little bit like liquid, even as she’s just sitting here.

“Two, three hours, Cat,” he promises again, and this time she doesn’t bother trying to fight her smile. He leans in and kisses her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and then her lips, lingering as he unwinds the pearls from her wrists. Then he draws back and drapes them around her neck, his eyes tracing the path as they dip between her breasts before sliding up to her gaze again.

“I’ll hold you to that, Bat.”


	8. Steve/Natasha - BDSM + multiple orgasms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** accidental stimulation + adrenaline + animalistic behaviors and characteristics + BDSM + dancing + multiple orgasms + noise + rough sex + well-fucked   
> **for:** monij1493 and two anons
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/173794532088) and [this photo](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/136593878558/la-belle-brune-is-it-time-for-wine-yet) and [this gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/171271836958) (nsfw)
> 
> set in the [vampire 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/vampire%20'verse)

She hears his tires pulling off of the main road a few miles away, and her lips tug into a smirk as she tosses her head back, swaying to the bass of the music. Her body is humming from the fresh blood pulsing through her veins, the taste of it still sweet and intoxicating on the tip of her tongue, which is something she knows he’ll smell as soon as he’s inside the manor. He’ll be pissed that she fed without him, and maybe a little bit unhinged considering he hasn’t had a drop of anything for himself in a couple of days.

 _Good_. She’s counting on that.

She hears his car pull up, hears the soft growl he lets out just as he’s cut off the engine, and she tightens her grip on the neck of the wine bottle in her hand as she twirls, her feet gracefully gliding over the plush carpet. He unlocks the front doors with a click, stepping inside, and she feels her breath hitch when his scent hits the air. She licks her lips, practically tasting the musk of him, the flares of want and the ripples of frustration rolling off of him in waves. He walks through the entryway, his steps echoing through the air under the blare of her music, and she glances over her shoulder the moment that he appears in the doorway to the library, baring her fangs at him in a smile.

His gaze flicks to the crackling fireplace, to the bottles of liquor lines up along the red oak coffee table, before settling on her. She’s got her back to him, but she knows he can tell that she’s completely bare under the dress shirt she’d taken from his side of the closet. Her hair is still damp from her bath, twisted into an elegant mess of a bun atop her head - because she knows he likes when her neck is bared to him, likes when he can see the pulse in her veins.

His breaths grow heavier, his throat flexing in a hard swallow.

She hums, brings the wine bottle to her lips and tips it back, relishing in the warmth of the bittersweet liquid as it slides down her throat. She continues swaying slowly to the music, his shirt falling off of her left shoulder when she spins around to face him, and she watches as his eyes catch the glint of his military tags between her breasts. His entire body tenses, his muscles flexing under his suit, and she bats her eyes at him as she holds out the wine bottle.

“Thirsty?”

A low growl rips from his throat, and before she can blink, he’s rushed over to her and snatched the wine from her hand, tossing it aside and shattering it against the stone fireplace. Her lips twitch at the corners, and then he’s got his hands on her hips and throwing her back against the wall, making it shudder softly against the force. He presses himself against her, his hands sliding up her sides and over her breasts to cup her jaw. She sucks in a breath as he tips her head to the side, baring her neck to him as he leans in, and she makes this little noise in the back of her throat when his leg presses between hers, the smooth material of his slacks pressing against her sex. Her eyelashes flutter closed as she arches her neck, her heard thrumming, her blood pulsing. She _loves_ that white-hot burst of pleasure when he drinks from her, when his fangs puncture her crystal skin as if she were human, making her feel vulnerable. Making her feel _delicate_.

He parts his lips, grazing the skin at the curve of her neck - but then he grasps her wrists and pins them behind her back her, holding them in one hand as he rips his tie off with the other. She blinks, stunned, and then she gasps when she feels the fabric of his tie being knotted around her wrists tight enough that it hurts.

She pauses, blinking up at him.

It _hurts_.

His lips pull into a smirk. “A witch owed me a favor or two,” he explains, gently tracing his knuckles down her cheek. “They’re quite renowned for their charms - simple yet effective.” Then his smirk widens. “And I figured you’d appreciate being tied down by my favorite tie. You always say how you love me in a suit.”

Her heart flutters, a rush of excitement shooting through her as she tries tugging at the knot. The fabric doesn’t even strain under the full force of her strength, though, her wrists locked in place, and a warmth unfurls low in her stomach as Steve reaches between her breasts and grasps his military tags between his fingers. He runs his thumb over his name imprinted in the thin metal, his eyes growing hazier, more vibrant, the deep red shade making her pulse trip as his gaze meets hers. His body is vibrating in want, in hunger, and he leans in and kisses her, licking the traces of blood off of her tongue and growling lowly against her lips.

He winds his arms around her and scoops her up, and in a blink he’s setting her on the leather couch in front of the fireplace, pushing her legs apart as he kneels between them. Her head falls back against the couch, her lips parting as her breaths grow heavier and more uneven. He hooks one of her knees over his shoulder and nips on the inside of her thigh, making her gasp again.

“You won’t be able to free yourself,” he murmurs against her skin, his warm breath rolling over her center. “You won’t be able to stop me.”

She glances between her legs to find him watching her, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and she knows him well enough to know the question he’s really asking. They’ve played this game dozens and dozens of times before - him rough, erratic, and her bending to his will, entirely at his mercy - but it was something that could never _really_ possible. Not with what they both are. And even with this tie, she knows if she tried hard enough, she’d find a way out.

But this is the first time in decades she’s felt an ounce of helplessness. The first time in decades that a genuine sliver of adrenaline shoots through her.

And she _likes_ it.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

His lips twitch at her taunt, and he holds her gaze as he rolls his tongue over her, licking a slow, broad stripe up her folds. He groans, the vibrations making her tingle _all over_ , and she watches, almost entranced, as his eyelashes flutter closed at the taste of her, his strokes growing firmer and purposeful. Her spine arches, her hips rolling, but he presses his hand against her high and pins her in place as he flicks at her clit with the tip of his tongue. Her lips part, her body trembling, pleasure quickly coiling and tightening at the base of her spine. She’s always particularly sensitive right after feeding, and he knows exactly how to build the pleasure for her, knows when to tease her little bundle of nerves and when to curl his tongue inside her, fanning the flames of her orgasm. 

He’s pushing her quickly, _quickly_ , toward her high, her pulse tripping and her blood roaring. She pulls against the grip of his tie, presses her cheek into the couch cushion as she moans. He presses her legs a little wider apart and closes his lips around her clit, flattening his tongue and circling, circling, over and over and _over_ –

And then her orgasm is bursting over her, the pleasure crashing down in waves as she arches off of the couch, her moans echoing through the air.

He continues lapping at her gently, groaning as her walls flutter, her sex pulsing, riding out her high with her. Then he pulls his mouth off of her, drawing a whimper from her lips as he sinks his teeth into the inside of her thigh again. His tongue swipes out over the puncture in her skin, tasting the blood that falls.

Her eyelids feel heavy as she blinks them open, and she finds him staring up at her again, his lips glistening with her arousal. Then he _smiles_ , dipping his head again, and she mewls as his tongue finds her clit and starts circling it again.

Oh. _Oh._

She sucks in a gasp under his steady, firm strokes, the pleasure still humming in her veins. Her body hasn’t entirely come down from her first high and already she can feel the tendrils of another tugging at her, swirling low in her stomach and building at the base of her spine. He’s groaning a little louder now, drunk on the taste of her as he closes his lips and suckles gently.

She squirms against the tie, the fabric pinching her skin as she tries tugging at it again, wanting to grasp at his hair, wanting to twist it between her fingers. She shakes her head, already feeling too much, _too fucking much_ , but she loves it. She feels dizzy, almost weightless, smothered by heat and sensation.

Her second orgasm follows on the heels of her first, Steve growling against her folds as they flutter. Her stomach tightens, her sex aching to be filled, wanting him to be inside her, and it draws another whimper from her lips as she rides out the waves of her pleasure. He still hasn’t let up his grip on her hips, the tie keeping her pinned in place as he continues lapping at her release, and he teases the tip of his at her entrance every so often.

Then he pulls away from her trembling body in a blink, and her eyelashes flutter open at the sound of fabric tearing, of belt being ripped open and his clothes being tossed onto the floor. He winds an arm around her and pulls her to his chest, rolling her over to straddle his hips as he sinks into the couch cushions, and his lips wrap around one of her nipples and sucks harshly.

Her lips part, her head tipping back, her already sensitive nerves overwhelmed by the pleasure - and then he’s guiding his hips over his length, her walls fluttering as he presses at her entrance. She looks down at him, her eyelids widening ever so slightly as his fingers dig into her skin, and she _yelps_ when he suddenly sinks her onto him, filling her in one stroke. His rhythm is slow, but only a little bit at first, holding her in place as he thrusts into her with an almost bruising sort of force. Her body curls into itself as it tries to escape the delirious sensations, very nearly losing her balance with her hands unable to grasp onto anything.

She wants to touch him, to grab onto his hair, to dig her nails into his skin. She wants to feel his muscles flex under her fingertips, wants to feel every inch of his smooth, hard, perfect skin. She falls forward, her forehead leaning against his, and she lets out a mewl when he reaches between them and finds her taut little bundle of nerves with his thumb, gently circling over it.

Her body tightens, trembling as he angles his hips and brushes against that sweet spot inside her again and again.

She unravels with a sharp cry, the white-hot pleasure rushing over her once more as she falls apart over him. He slows his thrusts but doesn’t stop, her walls fluttering and tightening as he drags out her orgasm with every stroke.

His lips brush over the middle of her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her lips, murmuring sweet words as she finally, _finally_ , comes down from that blissful peak. Her skin is flushed and slicked with sweat, her blood pulsing through her veins as his hand smooths gentle circles over her spine.

“You alright, Nat?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly and rough.

She nods her head as best as she can as he reaches behind her, undoing the knot of the tie around her wrists, and she winds her arms around his neck and whimpers ever so slightly as he pulls her off of him. He’s still hard - _harder_ , if possible - and she knows for damn sure that he didn’t come. But he ignores this, rolling them over to lay her against the couch before he pulls away to stand up.

She swallows lightly, licking her lips as she peers up at him. He smiles, soft and tender, shining in adoration, and it’s ridiculous that it still makes her heart stutter the way it did a century ago, the first time he had ever looked at her.

“Were you always this kinky?” she asks, her voice breathless and light.

He chuckles, touches his hand to her face and sweeps his thumb over her cheek. “What can I say?” He arches an eyebrow. “You bring out the best in me.” He leans down, kissing her gently on her lips. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her.

She nods, watching as he walks out of the library, and a smile pulls at her lips as she reaches up and touches her fingertips to the military tags still draped around her neck. She holds it between her fingers, flipping it over to read his name stamped in the metal as her heart does this stupid little skip in her chest. She can hear the sounds of him rummaging around the kitchen, pulling the fridge open, and she bites on the inside of her lip as she rubs her thumbs over the soft bumps. She knows he survived horrors in this war - the war that had killed him, the war that had _turned_ him - but just as her death had been a twisted sort of blessing, this had been his. This had been a second chance.

 _Their_ second chance.

(No, she doesn’t really believe in fate. But she believes in _him_ , and she knows that they were made to find each other. They were meant to have this.)

She tips her head toward the doors as Steve walks back in, holding two wine glasses of blood in hand, and his lips curve into a smile as he takes in the sight of her stretched out over the leather couch. She smiles, too, glancing down his bared skin, taking in the lines of his muscles, lingering on his length, still hard with his arousal and slick with her release. He walks over to her, sitting down beside her, and her muscles tremble ever so slightly as she moves to sit herself up and lean into his chest. He presses a glass into her hand, taking a gulp of his own.

“What?” he asks with a bit of a laugh, hooking his finger around the thin, silver chain of his military tags as she gets this stupid little grin on her face.

Her heart flutters, and his eyes soften as he hears it. “I’m just glad we met.”


	9. Bucky/Wanda - baths and water (hot springs) + sex in public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** baths and water (hot springs) + biting + bonds + breath + courting and dating + flirting + getaways + heat + love and passion + messiness and markers of arousal + noise + sex in public or semi-public places + touching   
> **for:** shurris and an anon
> 
> also inspired by [this gif](https://sexyhappychic.tumblr.com/post/173158923763) (mild nsfw)

She feels him before she sees him, her mind being drawn in by his thoughts as he makes his way over to the corner of the hot springs she’s settled in, and she bites on the inside of her lip and sort of sinks herself lower into the water to try and contain her smile. It’s new, this thing between them, but somehow it feels a little familiar, too. It feels comfortable and tingling and kind of thrilling all at once and she really, really likes it.

“You know, doll,” he says, his voice low and smooth and making a shiver slide down her spine as she glances over her shoulder at him. “I hated waking up to an empty bed.” He raises his eyebrows, giving her a teasing smile, and she lets out a giggle as she turns around in the water to face him. Her eyes slide down his bared torso, down the hard lines of his chest and over the narrow curves of his hips where his shorts are hanging deliciously _low_.

“I wanted to go for a warm swim, and you were sleeping,” she says, her eyelashes fluttering in that way she knows drives him crazy.

He chuckles, crouching down and then slipping into the water, and her heart skips in her chest as he makes his way to her. The steam of the water has already made her feel flushed all over, but when his hand reaches for her hips she almost jumps at the touch, his skin sending a white-hot warmth shooting through her veins. He draws her to his chest, and her breath hitches ever so slightly when she feels the front of him pressing against her stomach, his length hard through the thin material of his shorts.

She knows how much he loves to touch her first thing in the morning, to draw her from her sleep with lazy laps of his tongue, until she’s whining and trembling and dragging her nails over his muscles, aching for him to be inside of her. And maybe she was trying to tease him a little by sneaking out when he was still sleeping, knowing that he would be crave her, that he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything _but_ her. And she _loves_ these little moments where he’s the one to seek her out, especially since she knows that it’s not always something he’s able to do. He’s far from not the haunted, self-deprecating man she’d met a few months ago, but still. He has his moments where he’ll retreat, where he’ll need space, and she’ll be the one to bring him back into focus.

So maybe it’s silly for her to like this so much - for her to be smothered with his want, by his adoration and affection - but she doesn’t care.

He loves it as much as she does, and that’s all that really matters.

“What if I wanted to go for a swim, too?” he asks, one eyebrow arched. She giggles and shrugs her shoulders, and he groans softly, dipping his head to press a quick kiss along the line of her jaw like he can’t quite help himself.

She breathes out his name, winding her arms around his torso and digging her nails into the muscles of his back as his lips nip at her skin. Once, twice, three times, then gently sucks at the mark he made. She stretches on the tips of her toes as he draws her closer, sliding his lips down to her neck and lapping at the water rolling down her skin. A warmth flutters low in her stomach, the pressure starting to coil at the base of her spine.

“Feel that?” He presses his hips against hers, making her suck in a gasp. His lips curve into a smile against her throat, and he flattens his tongue against her skin, licking a slow, broad stripe. She lets out this little noise, digs her nails into the muscles of his back. “You drive me crazy,” he says, his breath hot as it tickles the skin of her neck.

Everything feels warm and light and dizzy in the best way possible, and then he’s moving her back, pressing her gently against the smooth, cold rocks at one edge of the hot springs, making her skin tingle against the contrasting sensations. She moans, her voice echoing into the air, and her heart sort of skips in her chest, her eyes widening as her cheeks flush. James gives her a boyish, crooked grin, and she knows what that twinkle in his eyes mean.

“You know,” he says slowly, bringing his hand between her legs and brushing firmly through her bikini to press at her sex. She bites on the inside of her lip. “Stark may have rented the resort to ourselves, but I’m sure the others can still hear us if they tried.” He finds her clit, rubbing just a little bit harder, and her sex flutters as she bites on the inside of her lip to stifle a moan. He leans in and kisses the shell of her ear, then whispers, “I think I want them to.”

Her eyes widen, a thrill rushing down her spine and through her veins, and she knows he can tell.

Then he dips his fingers into her bikini, and another moan falls from her lips as his calloused fingertips slip into her folds, finding her clit. She can hear the want in her voice as it echoes through the air, and she thinks she should be embarrassed by it - by the fact that the others are still somewhere around the resort, able to hear them, able to glance out their windows and _see them_ \- but she kind of loves it, too. All her life has been about controlling herself, about holding things in, and something as simple as this is strangely relieving. She can’t quite stifle herself when it comes to James, and she doesn’t _want_ to, and it’s incredibly thrilling to just let go.

He’s rubbing gentle, steady circles over her clit, knowing that she’s always sensitive the first time he touches her. He knows he can make her fall apart in seconds even just like this, with these soft, feather-light touches, and now that he’s heard her voice floating through the air, lilting with want, he seems determined to draw every little whimper and moan he can. He leans in again to lap at her neck, the water lapping at their skin as she tries to roll against his fingers, urging him to go faster, to press harder.

But he keeps his dizzying, barely there pressure, slipping his fingers away to circle at her entrance just before she can find his rhythm. She shudders, her eyelashes fluttering open to meet his gaze, and it always, always takes her a little by surprise to see the intensity in his eyes, wild yet tender all at once.

His hard length is pressing into her hip, rigid with want, gently jutting against her as she squirms under his touch. She tries to reach for it, but he rubs a little harder over her clit, distracting her as a ripple of pleasure washes over her.

“ _James_.” She drags her nails down his back, scratching at the skin above his waistband of his shorts. “I want to touch you.”

“Soon,” he promises, kissing her throat. “But first, I want to _hear_ you.”

He pushes two fingers into her, curling, and soft cry falls from her lips as her body arches, her hips pushing against his hand. His thumb finds her clit and circles over and over, gently building the pressure of her orgasm. Her voice climbs in octave, growing louder, shaky and broken and _needy_. The heat from the water is sticking to her skin, smothering her, making every part of her tingle as she tries to find his rhythm, but his strokes quicken, the pressure of his thumb growing harder on her little bundle of nerves. Her body shakes, her senses spiraling into a dizzy haze.

She falls apart with a loud, broken cry, her body writhing as he continues the steady, curling thrusts of his fingers, the firm circles of his thumb. Her voice is trailing through the air, breaking the silent, peaceful atmosphere of the resort. She can feel her powers starting to flare, wanting to relieve her from the unrelenting waves of pleasure, and she can barely grasp onto the threads of her control as she unravels at the seams. But James is in her ear, his voice soft and smooth, whispering how beautiful she is, how amazing she is, and his words soothe the sparks of her powers threatening to shoot out. She feels incredibly empowered even as her body quivers under his fingertips, unable to anything but ride the throws of her orgasm as he drags it out for her.

Then, a few moments later, she whimpers and tips her her head forward, falling against his collarbone as her body begins to float down from that dizzying high. He pulls his fingers out of her, wraps his hand around her hip and rubs a small circle into her skin as the tremors of her orgasm ripple through her. Her bones feel a little like liquid, her muscles burning as they ease from the force of her orgasm. 

“I’m not going to be able to look at _anyone_ during breakfast,” she breathes out on a laugh, tipping her head back to meet his gaze.

He chuckles, though she can tell his voice is tight, his muscles taut with want.

“Especially since we’re not done yet,” he says, reaching between them to push down the waistband of his shorts, and her eyelashes flutter as she feels his hard length pressing against the skin of her hip. “I want to hear you _sing_ , doll.”

Then he pushes into her, slow, rubbing against her oversensitive nerves, and her voice chimes through the air as she cries out his name.


	10. Steve/Natasha - intoxication and altered states (sex pollen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** coming in or on one’s partner + exhibitionism + intoxication and altered states (sex pollen) + masturbation + multiple orgasms + orgasm denial + public displays of affection + sex in public or semi-public places + sexual appetite or excess + vaginal penetration with foreign objects  
>  **for:** ladyirenebellatrixofadlertaylor

Her body is humming, tingling, and the heat in her veins is almost scorching as it slides through her, her muscles growing taut with arousal, her mind clouding over in a dizzy haze. She’s vaguely aware of the voices on the other side of the door, and even over the thrum of her blood in her ears, she can pick out Steve - his tone low and tight and urgent - and it makes her breath hitch, makes her skin prickle in more desperation, if possible. Tony said that whatever the hell had been injected into her had been a small dosage, but, _fuck_ , she feels a little bit like she’s being smothered right now.

She hitches her leg up higher, the sheet half-falling from her as she spreads herself a wider and circles her fingers tighter around her clit. She’s already come once, but it didn’t do _anything_ to ease the arousal pulsing through her.

The door clicks open, Sam’s voice growing louder and clearer as footsteps walk into the quinjet infirmary. “…says it isn’t dangerous, but– _shit_.” He cuts himself off with a muttered curse, no doubt taking in the sight of her bared skin peeking out from under the thin sheet Tony had thrown over her after she’d practically ripped herself out of her stealth suit. She hears someone walk over to her, her body jolting when a large, warm, calloused hand cups at her cheek, and a shudder ripples down her spine as her eyelashes flutter open to meet Steve’s eyes.

“That’s quite a look on you, Nat,” he says, and she knows he’s teasing her even though his voice is tight with worry. He bats her hand away, dips two fingers into her wetness and circles her entrance, and her spine arches off of the bed as he strokes just inside her once, twice, three times. She already feels as if she’s on the edge again, and then he pushes inside, rubs his fingertips inside her sex as he quickly finds that sweet spot that makes her see stars.

She grasps onto his forearm with one hand, the other pushing into her hair and tightening around it as she writhes through another orgasm, brief and entirely too unsatisfying even as the pleasure is all but burning her from the inside out.

Her head rolls, her cheek pressing into the the pillow as she glances up at Steve from the corner of her eyes. He gives her a soft smile, dragging his fingers up the slick folds of her sex and seeking out her clit, rubbing it in soft strokes. She’s only realizes that Sam is still in the room when he clears his throat, but when she looks at him, his back is half-turned away from her, his head turned and his gaze trained on the door, very obviously trying to give her some sense of privacy, even though everyone on this jet knows exactly what’s happening with her right now. What’s about to happen, now that Steve is back.

She should be embarrassed, but she’s too fucking _frustrated_ to even care.

A whimper falls from her lips as he cups her sex, the rough material of his stealth suit gloves scratching against her oversensitive folds. He hadn’t even taken the time to take off his helmet; he’d come straight to her as soon as he was on the jet, no doubt having heard from someone else the moment she’d been rushed to the infirmary with Tony. She’s always loved how he looks in his suit, and it almost makes her _laugh_ , thinking about how many times she’s wanted him to fuck her with it on, right here on this jet. They’ve come pretty damn close to, but not without almost being walked-in on, or being called away to attend to someone or something else.

She pressing her palm over the growing, hardening bulge in the front of his pants, and his jaw flexes as he grunts and leans in to kiss her forehead, pulling her hand away. “Not now, love,” he murmurs, rubbing a circle on the inside of her wrist. Then, raising his voice a little, he tells Sam, “I’ve got it from here.”

“Right.” His voice is tight, and Natasha’s almost entirely certain the guy is trying not to laugh. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. “Just - call us if you need us.”

His footsteps fall away, the door clicking closed behind him. It doesn’t really do much to hide the fact that the infirmary is lined with tall, wide glass walls, but still. She doubts anyone will be wandering into this part of the jet anytime soon.

Steve’s lips twitch as he sits on the edge of her bed, his fingers finding her clit again, circling it again and again. “Poor guy is probably traumatized,” he quips.

“Poor Sam.” She’s surprised how sarcastic she manages to sound considering her voice is breathy and quivering. “Never mind how I feel, though.”

Steve chuckles. “Darling, I care _very much_ how you feel.” He leans over her and closes his lips around one of her nipples between, sucking gently, and her eyes fall closed as the strokes of his fingers grow firmer. His hand smooths up her side, his glove lightly scratching her skin as he cups her other breast and rolls his thumb over her nipple. He gently bites at the nipple between his lips, tugs at her other nipple between his fingers, and the sharp, short flashes of pain only seems to heighten her pleasure as he increases the pressure on her clit. Her sex flutters, aching to be filled even as the sensations are coiling tightly around her, quickly pulling her under.

But then he suddenly draws his hand away, halting her right on that dizzying edge as he nips at her breast again, then runs his tongue over the indents of his teeth in her skin. She lets out a groan, digging her nails into his hair, and the ass actually chuckles as he lets her pleasure start to fall away from her.

When he looks at her, he’s fucking _grinning_.

“Fuck you,” she breathes out, her eyelashes fluttering closed as he brings his hand between her legs again, gently brushing her clit again. Her body jerks at the touch, but this time instead, he slides his fingers down and pushes two of them shallowly into her entrance. A shudder ripples down her spine, his fingers pushing in a little more, and a little more, until he’s all the way in, rubbing at the walls of her sex. 

His strokes are too slow, too gentle, even as he quickly finds her sweet spot and brushes against it with every other thrust of his fingers. She feels her nipples tighten as they rub against the front of his suit, scratching against the stitches, and it’s somehow too much and not enough.

It’s quicker this time, the way he pushes her towards her orgasm - but again he pulls away, leaving her flushed and all but gasping for air, her muscles pulled tight. She huffs out a groan, her hands moving to touch herself, but he grasps her by her wrists and pins them on either sides of her hips. He shifts, moving to kneel on the bed between her legs, and she glances down her body as he dips his head and gives a slow, almost tentative lick to her sex, letting the flat of his tongue linger against her clit. A white-hot pleasure shoots through her, her body writhing, but he draws away and kisses the inside of her thigh, leaving her teetering on that peak.

“ _Steve_.” She doesn’t care how pathetic she sounds. He’s driving her _crazy_.

“Keep your hands in place,” he murmurs into her skin, sliding his lips back to her sex and lapping at her again as he draws his hands away. She presses her palms flat to the bed, scratching at the sheet as she stares up at the ceiling through heavy, half-closed eyelids - until she feels something cold and solid and smooth pressing at her sex. She lifts herself up ever so slightly to look between her legs again, and her heart skips when she sees his slim, metal baton pressing at her entrance.

Her breath hitches, her eyes widening ever so slightly as he holds her stare. She knows he’s giving her a chance to say no, but all she can do is part her lips a little wider and hold his gaze. He leans forward and kisses her, his tongue slipping past her lips and pressing against hers as the baton sinks into her sex. It’s only a little at first, the cold metal sending sharp tingles of pleasure as it rubs against her overheated, oversensitive nerves. It’s a strange sensation to feel it pressing further into her, but she doesn’t hate it. Not in the slightest.

She moans against their kiss as he presses the baton in as deep as it can go. Her body is quivering, shaking, _vibrating_ with pleasure, but it doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as it had before, when the drug had first been in her system.

Steve pulls away, kissing the corner of her lips before shifting back down her body, and she watches, almost entranced, as he lowers his lips to her clit and gives it a gentle suck. Her eyelashes flutter, but then he sucks at her again and gently, slowly, starts to move the baton, pulling it out of her. Her walls flutter and her head falls back against the pillow, her entire body arching.

 _Oh_ , _fuck._

He groans against her sex, lapping at her with his tongue as he pushes the baton back in and then pulls it out again, establishing a teasing, delicious rhythm. It might not have been enough on its own, but with her body having been so close to the edge, and with Steve’s lips gently suckling over her little bundle of nerves, she can feel her orgasm tightening and tightening as the heat shoots through her veins again. She whimpers against the pressure of his tongue as it tightens on her clit, the cold, hard press of the baton making her head spin. It’s almost uncomfortable, but that only seems to heighten her pleasure.

Her hips jerk off of the bed as she falls apart again, a cry falling from her lips as she grasps onto his hair and tightens, tugging at it, digging her nails into his scalp, but his groan is one of pure pleasure as he gently nips at her folds. He keeps the pressure right there against her clit, unrelenting as she rides the waves of her orgasm, her walls fluttering around the baton. He’s holding it still now, letting her practically fuck herself on it, and he reaches up with one hand and gently tugs at one of her nipples, making her whimper at the sensation.

She sucks in a breath as her body starts to fall back down, her grip loosening in his hair, and he pulls his lips away as he pulls the baton out of her.

He kisses the scar over her hip, the flat of her stomach, the dip between her breasts, peppering his lips along every inch of skin as he trails a path up her body and back to her lips. She practically whines his name, kissing him a little harder, a little deeper, scratching her nails over his scalp as she drags them down to cup at the back of his neck. He can feel how hard he is through the material of his stealth suit as his hips press into hers, and despite the exhaustion beginning to tug at her muscles, she wants more. She wants _him_.

“Still feeling uncomfortable?” he asks, nuzzling his face into her cheek. His voice is low and gravelly with his own arousal, but of course he’s only focused on her as he lays on her side beside him, tangling their legs together.

“Not nearly as much,” she tells him, because it’s true. She can still feel the arousal pulsing through her, but it doesn’t feel as if she’s being smothered anymore. Her hand slips between them, cupping his bulge and giving it a soft squeeze, and she relishes in the way he groans her name. “I still want more.”

“So fucking greedy,” he laughs, brushing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. She bites the inside of her lip, grinning. “Give me a second.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Give _you_ a second?”

He licks his lips, smooths his hands over the curve of her ass and gives it a squeeze. “Yeah. Because as soon as I’m inside you, I’m not going to be able to catch my breath for a while.” Lips curving into a smirk, he hooks his hand behind her knee, hitching it over his hip and pressing her wet sex against the front of his utility belt, sending tingles down his spine. “Because right now I’m incredibly uncomfortable, and it’s your turn to do something about it.”


	11. Steve/Natasha - Cinderella stories + coming in or on one’s partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** 29\. Cinderella stories (Steve) + 32. Coming in or on one’s partner + 74. Heat + 107. Noise + 115. Pillow-biting + 158. Urgency for sex  
>  **for:** two anons
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/174547402916/swietek93-chalantness-this-gives-me-so-many); set in the [royal 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/royal-%27verse)

“Everyone was staring at us.”

Steve hums, nipping at her earlobe as he tugs her into the sitting room of their suite. “I think they were staring at your dress,” he murmurs, kissing his way along the line of her jaw, the column of her throat, the curve of her collarbone. She reaches up and twists her fingers into his hair, tipping her head back in a soft, broken moan as he presses the small of her back against the mini bar.

“They were staring at _you_.” She’d meant to sound teasing, except her voice comes out thin and a little shaky as his lips skim down the low neckline of her dress, his tongue darting out to lick at the dip of her breasts. She shivers. “You’re the hero of the country, after all. The _knight_ that saved his princess.”

He ignores this, pulling her dress completely down her chest to wrap his lips around a nipple, sucking gently, and she breathes out a laugh. She knows that Steve is incredibly flattered by the praise that everyone has been giving him - the guard that took a bullet for the princess - but she also knows that he would rather slip back under the radar if he could. He’s not one for attention, but she kind of likes that everyone is finally recognizing him. He came from almost nothing; a scrawny, ailing kid from a small street in Brooklyn. He lost both of his parents young, but became a decorated veteran after two tours and ended up in the _royal_ secret service, something that’s difficult enough to accomplish, but especially if you’re not from their country.

Steve is amazing and resilient, and such a _good man_ , and he deserves the attention.

(And she believes _all_ of their guards should get be given this kind of attention and gratitude. Just because they don’t always get hurt in some public way in the line of duty, they’re still risking their lives to keep her and her family safe.)

He tugs down the zipper of her dress and pushes it off, letting the pool around her ankles, and then she’s letting out a laugh when he hooks an arm around her and hoists her onto the mini bar. He slants his mouth against hers, licks at the seam of her lips, and she parts them for him as she cups his jaw, stroking her thumbs along the stubble. He’ll never really let it grow more than this - mostly out of habit - but he also knows how crazy it drives her to feel it brushing against her skin, knows how it makes her tingle wherever it gently scratches her.

She pulls her hands away and reaches behind her neck, about to unfasten her necklace, but he parts their kiss and shakes his head, his lips twitching in a grin. “Leave it on,” he says, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts and give them a squeeze. Her breath hitches ever so slightly, watching as his eyes drop to the diamonds at her throat, then slide down the bared flat of her stomach, taking in the thin lace of her panties and the sleek black stilettos strapped to her ankles. “That’s quite a look, princess.”

Her heart skips _every time_ he calls her that.

“Maybe I should dress like this at the next party,” she teases with a tilt of her head, feeling a giddy flutter in her stomach when his eyes flash. She arches an eyebrow. “Of course, that would mean less attention for my valiant knight.”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, circles his thumbs over her nipples, and her eyelashes fall closed as she tips her head back. “It’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” He leans in, nipping her earlobe as he kneads at her breasts. She grasps onto the edge of the mini bar, curls her fingers around it as she arches into his touch. “The royal service is supposed to blend in, yet everyone likes to point me out.”

“Almost makes you regret making such a scene, doesn’t it?” she asks, and honestly, she doesn’t even realize what she’s said, too distracted by the tingles of pleasure rolling over her with every gentle press and pull of his hands.

But he surprises her with a sharp tug to one of her nipples, making her eyes fly open as the fleeting pinch of pain quickly dissolves into a hot burst of pleasure. His eyes are swirling, almost stormy, his expression hardening ever so slightly at the edges, and she bites on the inside of her lip to hide her smile. She knows she shouldn’t be so turned on when he’s like this - just a little bit forceful, a little bit pissed - but he’s always such a picture of composure, and she _loves_ that he’s so open with her.

“ _Never_.” His voice is practically a growl, another spark of arousal shooting through her when he tugs at her nipples again, rolling it tightly between his fingers. “I’ll never regret that moment.” He pulls a hand off of her and cups it over her sex, finding her wet. She moans, her head falling back and her lips falling open as he grinds his hand over the thin lace, his strokes almost _punishing_ , but _god_ , it feels good. He’s not afraid to push a little, not afraid that she’ll break if he’s anything less than delicate. “I’ll never regret saving you.”

He slips his fingers under her panties and pushes two fingers into her without warning, and she breathes his name, tries to roll her hips against his steady strokes, but she can’t quite do it with the way she’s sitting on this bar. He knows it, too, because his lips curve into a smirk as he nips at the skin near the back of her neck (something she can easily hide with her hair down, but something she’ll know is there; something she’ll still be able to feel in the morning).

“ _Never_ , Nat.”

She nods, her fingers fumbling to reach for him, to grasp his face. She wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t let her tug him close, angles his wrist and brushes his fingers against that sweet spot that always makes her see stars. He’s not giving her a rhythm to follow, not letting her kiss him, and it’s driving her _crazy_ as he quickly builds the pleasure inside of her. He knows her body like the back of his hand, knows how to pull on the strings of her arousal, and she’s not quite sure if she wants him to slow down or if she wants him to just _get her there_.

Her body arches, her fingers grasping at his hair and twisting it in her grip as he curls his fingers, grinds the heel of his hand over her clit. She’s right there - _right there_ \- and then he pulls away, drawing a mewl from her lips as her body coils forward, her forehead falling into the curve of his neck as the wisps of her orgasm start to dissolve. He presses a kiss to her hair as he hooks an arm around her, lifting her up, and he walks them across the suite, gently tipping her onto the bed.

“I don’t ever want you to say something like that,” he says, setting a knee against the mattress as he braces himself over her with one hand, his other trailing down her stomach again to find the damn front of her panties. Her eyelashes flutter as he starts circling her clit again. “Not even as joke.”

“ _Steve_.” She arches her hips, a shudder of pleasure rolling over her as his strokes grow firmer but not faster. “Stop teasing.”

He hums, slides his fingers down to tease at her entrance through the lace. “Maybe you owe me this for upsetting me,” he murmurs against her forehead. She whimpers, her sex fluttering. She knows that his _favorite_ thing to do is to drag everything out and hold her on that dizzying edge for as long as possible - to reduce her into a writhing, gasping mess - and the thought of going through that right now makes her shudder. “Maybe you need it.”

“No,” she breathes, grasping at his shirt. “I need you to _fuck me_.”

He chuckles. “Such a filthy mouth, Your Highness.”

She almost laughs, but then his mouth is on hers again, kissing her hard and hot and heavy as he fumbles with the buckle of his belt. She hears it clatter as he tosses it to the floor, hears him unzip his slacks and push it down his hips. Then he pulls away, starting to reach into his pocket, but she grasps onto his arms and shakes her head. He pauses, holding her stare, and it’s almost palpable how much thicker the air grows, how much warmer. It wouldn’t be their first time without protection, but it’s not something they do often, and definitely not something they’ve done on _purpose_. She’s on the pill, though - which he knows - and his words are still lingering in her head, making her feel warm and tingly.

She knows she’s not ever going to regret this moment.

She could never regret _anything_ with Steve.

“I want to feel you.” She reaches between them, wraps her hand around his length. He’s thick and heavy, pulsing against her palm, and he groans softly from the back of his throat as she strokes gently. “I want to feel _everything_.”

He swallows, a smile tugging at his lips, small but _beautiful_ , and he leans in to kiss her as she guides him to her entrance.

Her stomach flutters, her walls already tightening as he starts to push in, and she arches her spine and sucks in a gasp against his lips as he slowly sinks into her. She’s so, _so_ sensitive from his teasing, her body still humming from having her orgasm snatched away from her, and it’s taking almost nothing at all for the pleasure to start building again. He groans as he bottoms out, pulling his lips from hers and exhaling sharply against the curve of her neck. That first push is always especially deep and delicious and a little bit overwhelming, and she whines before she can quite catch it as he starts to move.

“Be quiet, love,” he reminds, kissing her throat. “We have security standing by outside the suite.”

She lets out a shaky breath as she nods. Having extra security after the shooting was something she never questioned - never _wanted_ to question - but while most of the royal secret service must have an idea about her relationship with Steve by now, she’s certain they don’t actually want to _hear_ any of it.

Except she can’t help the moan that falls from her lips when he quickly picks up the rhythm of his thrusts. She always feels as if she’s on edge with him, like his every touch is about to make her burst, and she knows he feels the same way. Like something between them shifted in the last few weeks, making everything feel more intense _._ She’s known from the moment they met that he was different - that he was _more_ \- but now every touch feels weighted with it.

He groans as her walls tighten around him, the tastes of her orgasm making her skin tingle, making her muscles coil. He hooks one of her knees over his shoulder, pushing at the other to spread her wider as he hits that sweet spot over and over and _over_ , deep and delirious. She can feel every part of him pressing and pulling against her, filling her and stretching her, and when he angles his hips, he draws a sharp cry from her before she can stifle herself.

She twists her head, pressing her cheek into the pillow beneath her and biting on the material, muffling her moans as her pleasure climbs higher.

“Look at you.” His voice is gravelly and tight. “ _Fuck_. If only they could see you like this, under me. Then I might not mind the stares.”

She digs her nails into his shoulders, wanting to rip him out of his dress shirt and his blazer, wanting to feel his muscles flex and coil under her touch. She knows that while he’s mostly just teasing, there’s a truth to his words, too. He wants to be with her for everyone to see, wants to stop keeping them a secret. He’s _always_ said this, and she knows he’s always meant it, but again, there’s something about this time feels different. There’s something in his voice that makes it far more serious, like he’s making her a promise.

“Nat, love, look at me,” he urges, kissing her cheek. She’s so, so _close_ , and then her body jerks beneath him when his thumb finds her clit, circling it in soft strokes. “I don’t care if anyone hears us. _Let them_.” His voice quivers, a long groan pulling from his throat as his thrusts grow more erratic. He’s close, too. “Because _I_ want to hear you. I want everyone to hear you.”

She opens her lips, releasing her tight bite on the pillow, and rolls her head to meet his stare through heavy lids. Everything is hazy and blurry, except for him.

He’s _always_ the exception.

He circles her bundle of nerves once, twice, three times, pressing a little bit harder with every stroke, and she cries out.

“ _Steve!_ ”

Her orgasm is white-hot and almost consuming, shuddering over her in waves. Her spine arches off of the bed, her fingers twisting so tightly around his blazer she swears she could hear the material tearing if not for the rush of blood pulsing in her ears.

He groans, murmurs, “fuck, _fuck_ ,” and a few strokes later, she can feel him spilling inside of her, a warmth fluttering in her chest and sending tingles down her spine. He keeps thrusting his hips through his orgasm, shallow and shaky and _so good_ , their voices echoing through the suite as they ride their highs.

And when she feels herself starting to float back down, his lips find hers to kiss her, soft and sweet, savoring the taste of her.

“ _Nat_ ,” he moans, kissing the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, then draws back to gaze at her face, his eyes shining. “There’s my princess.”

“When we get married, _you’ll_ be a prince,” she points out with a breathy giggle. His lips quirk at the corners as he lifts a hand, places it over her left hand that’s against his cheek, and her heart skips when his thumb smooths over her fourth finger. She’s never, ever had a ring on it before, not even as an accessory, and she likes that he’ll be her first. “You’ll need your own guards, too.”

“That’ll take some getting used to.” He leans in and kisses her again, almost lazily. “I’ll never stop being _your_ guard, though,” he murmurs. “ _Never_.”

She feels a little bit like she’s holding her breath. “Promise?”

He breathes out a laugh, and the sound makes her feel light and giddy. “Promise.”


	12. Bruce/Selina - BDSM + neck fetishization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** 16\. BDSM + 17. Begging or offering + 19. Biting + 32. Coming in or on one’s partner + 99. Messiness and markers of arousal + 102. Multiple orgasms + 105. Neck fetishization + 109. Orgasm denial + 110. Pampering  
>  **for:** three anons
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/156130178117)

“Fucking sadist.”

Her voice comes out in a harsh breath, tapering off into a soft moan as her eyelashes flutter closed. She hears him chuckle, his fingers not so much as pausing over the keyboard as he continues typing, and another shiver rolls down her spine. The soft buzz of the vibe is still unrelenting where he’d slipped it against her sex, just underneath her little bundle of nerves and held in place by her lace panties. Her shoulders are starting to feel sore from being held up and tied to the headboard, but every other part of her feels like liquid, having never quite recovered from the _three_ times she’d come in the last half hour.

“Sadists take pleasure in other’s pain,” he replies, and she sucks in a breath as he notches up the vibrations. “I’m taking pleasure in your pleasure.”

She would scoff at that, but she can’t quite _think_ with the pleasure coiling tightly at the base of her spine, making everything feel hazy. He’d been quick with her first orgasm, his tongue working her in long, firm strokes as he dragged out her high; and she’d barely begun to shudder under the tremors of it when he had pulled the vibe out of his pocket, lips twitching into a smirk as he switched it on and slipped it into her panties. Her second orgasm had come shortly after, the vibrations against her clit making her body write on the mattress, pushing her over that dizzying edge again.

Then he’d gotten up and walked across their hotel suite to the desk, switching on his laptop and lowering the vibe down to a dull buzz against her clit as she caught her breath. He’s been working ever since, almost ignoring her entirely except to toy with the settings of that damn vibe whenever she’d tried to taunt him into coming back to bed. Her body is slick with sweat, humming and flushed with her arousal as the steady vibrations start to push her toward that blissful high once more. She knows better than to expect it, though. He’s let her come once more when he’d gotten up to pour himself a drink, but otherwise he’s kept her on edge for the last half hour, building up her pleasure only to yank it out from underneath her _every damn time_.

It’s tormenting and so fucking frustrating. and she shouldn’t like it as much as she does.

But she _does_. She _loves_ it.

She loves how her mind whites out from the pleasure, loves the way her body melts into the sensations. She can’t think of anything - not a _single thing_ \- when he takes over, and she needs that. She knows she can balance and adapt and she’s fine with that; she’s lived off of it her whole damn life. But sometimes she just needs to _let go_ , needs to turn it all off and not have so many damn things to have to think about.

And she certainly can’t at this moment. Not when all she can focus on are the unrelenting vibrations against her clit and the pressure coiling at the base of her spine. A shiver rolls down her spine, her body arching off of the mattress–

Then he switches it off, pulling a whimper from her lips as her body is halted right on the edge of her orgasm. She exhales a breath as she slumps back onto the bed, her body tingling, humming, and she hears him close his laptop with a soft click. His footsteps are muted against the carpet as he crosses the distance between them, and her eyelashes flutter open when she feels the bed dip with the weight of him. She knows that she must look like a mess - her skin sweaty, making her rumpled lingerie stick to her, and her hair mussed from her head rolling over the pillows - but his gaze is nothing but pure arousal, pure _adoration_ , as it slides down the curve of her body.

“How kind of you to finally join me, Mr. Wayne,” she says, sliding her foot into his lap, drawing a low groan from the back of his throat when she rubs against the hard front of his slacks. “You certainly know how to keep a girl waiting.”

He snatches her ankle with his hands, lifting her leg up before she can rub against him again. “I had work to finish,” he says simply, bending her knee a little before spreading her legs, and she sucks in a breath when she feels the vibe move against her folds with the motion, trapped right against her clit. His lips twitch at the corners as he pulls a hand off of her, and she bites on the inside of her lip, her stomach fluttering at the thought of him reaching for the remote in his blazer pocket to switch the vibe back on.

“ _Bruce_.” Her voice is thin and tight, her body vibrating with pleasure, still teetering right on that edge. “No more teasing.”

He pauses, his eyes swirling, darkening, and his throat flexes when he swallows. He leans over her, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, and she lets out this little noise when his lips find her pulse and nip once, twice, three times, and then licks at the indents he’d left in her skin. “Say please first,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his nose along the column of her throat.

She very nearly laughs. “ _Please_ go fuck yourself.”

He chuckles, nips at her again, and she knows she’ll have to cover up those marks in the morning and pretend to hate it, even if they both know better.

“Close enough.” He draws away, slides his hands over her hips and hooks his fingers under the waistband of his panties, dragging them down. She watches as he pulls them off from around her ankles, watches his eyes glint as he tucks them into the pocket of his blazer, and then he’s reaching between her legs and pulling the vibe away, tossing it aside on the mattress.

She’d laugh, except her breath gets caught in her throat as he stands to undo the buckle of his belt, and she licks her lips when he pulls his length free. He’s hard, and _dripping_ , and her heart skips, her arousal fluttering and coiling at the base of her spine. She tugs at the tie he’d wrapped around her wrists, wanting to reach for him, to touch him, and his expression softens at the edges as he climbs over her and braces himself on an elbow. He pushes his face into her neck against, breathing her in, pressing his length against her oversensitive folds, and a shudder rolls down her spine at the contact.

“I could barely concentrate on my emails, you know.” He finds the spot on the nape of her neck that drives her _crazy_ , that he loves to kiss, to suckle, to bite, and lets his breath tease over it. “Not with all those little sounds you made.”

He presses right at her entrance and her sex flutters, _aching_. She has a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t quite find her voice right now.

He groans as he pushes into her, and she sucks in a gasp, her spine arching off of the bed. She’s so, _so sensitive_ , her body trembling, vibrating with want. His grip tightens on her hips, his fingers digging in - not enough to really hurt but certainly enough for her to draw a sharp cry from her lips - as he draws their bodies flushed together, bottoming out. His exhales sharply into the curve of her neck, drawing back out and pushing back in, and her eyelashes flutter closed as he quickly starts to build a rhythm.

“I’m not going to last, love.” He skims his lips up, kissing the corner of her parted lips. “You’ve been driving me crazy for an hour. You’ve been driving me crazy _all day_ , when you showed up in my room, wearing _this_.” He slides a hand down her thigh, tugging at the garter straps of her lingerie. “Little minx.”

She breathes out a laugh, which tapers off into a moan when he hooks a hand under the bend of her knee and drapes it over his shoulder, thrusting in even deeper, _faster_ , finding that sweet spot that makes her vision blur.

Then his hand slides between them, finding her clit, and she _whimpers_ as her body jolts at the touch.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, soothing, even as his thumb lightly circles over her bundle of nerves and makes her mind spin, makes her entire body shiver. He kisses her lips once, twice, three times, and then brushes a kiss to her flushed cheek before whispering, “But I want you to come with me.”

She swallows, hard, blinking her eyes open to meet his gaze. His eyes are hazy and storming, her need reflected in his stare, and she feels her chest squeeze. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to the way he looks at her - as if everything has fallen into place; as if everything has led to this moment, to _her_ \- thought part of her hopes that she doesn’t. That she’ll always feel this overwhelmed by him, this adored by him. She’s never felt something quite so vulnerable before.

(She’s never felt something quite so _loving_ before.)

The wisps of her orgasm are coiling around her, starting to pull her under, to pull her apart at the seams, and she knows that Bruce can tell. He nips at the nape of her neck and she _whimpers_ , her walls fluttering, tightening - and then she feels everything dissolve in a burst of white-hot pleasure as her orgasm washes over her.

He groans, his thrusts erratic, almost bruising, until his muscles are tightening and his body is tensing above her. His orgasm follows on the heels of hers, his warmth spilling into her as he continues to roll his hips, their bodies trembling and tightening around each other as they ride out their highs.

His lips press against hers, gentle, almost tentative, and she parts them as his tongue laps at the seam of her lips. She winds her arms around his neck and draws him close, _closer_ , tightening around him as the tremors of her orgasm roll over her. She’s not quite sure how long it takes for her to start to float back down - seconds, _minutes_ \- but eventually, she feels Bruce draw back, winding an arm around her and pulling her to his chest. She mewls as he shifts inside of her, drawing her onto his lap, and his large, calloused hand smooths down her spine and settles at the small of her back.

“Don’t bite my head off for asking this,” he starts to say, his voice gravelly and breathy, “but that wasn’t too much for you, was it?”

She hums and shakes her head, pressing her lips to the line of his jaw.

“Never.” She leans back, just enough to catch his gaze. He smiles at her - soft and bright - and she falls a little bit more in love, if possible. “It was perfect.”


	13. Steve/Natasha - simultaneous orgasms + sleep and bedding themes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** animalistic behaviors and characteristics, dominant + breath + clothes fetishization + hurt/comfort + noise + simultaneous orgasms + sleep and bedding themes + worry + drunken one night stand au, pre-The Avengers  
>  **for:** xo-stardust720 and two anons
> 
> also inspired by [this gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/171867289249) and [this prompt](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/171427547591/hi-i-know-i-sent-a-prompt-already-but-i-hope)

He’s shaking.

Even through the alcohol thrumming in her veins, through the haze clouding over her senses, she still catches onto this. She can feel his hand trembling over her hips, against the bared sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. Because no, she hadn’t bothered to take a jacket when she left; something Clint would have given her crap about if he’d tagged along tonight. Just like he would’ve given her crap about her taking a stranger home.

She’s _never_ taken anyone home.

She lets them take her to their place, or she gets them a room at whatever hotel they happen upon first, but _this_ has never been on the table before. Her apartment is really only a place for her to sleep between missions, somewhere for her to keep her things, but she’s still wary of inviting someone else into her space. It’s a luxury she never had in the Red Room, and maybe it’s a simple thing to find comfort in, but she doesn’t care. She enjoys having this one thing to herself, and frankly, she’d rather not deal with the exasperation that comes with kicking someone out in the morning.

This one is different, though.

This man who spent all night listening to her crack jokes and letting her babble on about nothing at all, rather than give the pretty bartender more than a polite smile and brief reply whenever she flirted with him. That alone had been enough to intrigue Natasha, and so had the fact that she couldn’t quite tell if he was nervous. She’s always been adept at reading people, but this one was being difficult, whether he realized it or not, and she’s itching to figure out _why_.

She eases her lips off of his, smooths her thumbs over his jaw as he blinks his eyes open to peer up at her. It’s unfair how ridiculous _blue_ they are.

“If I didn’t know any better, stranger, I’d say you were anxious.”

The corners of his lips twitch as he flexes his hands over her hips, and she swallows lightly, trying to ignore the drunk, hazy observance of how his brown leather jacket matches her couch. He’s tall and broad and _solid_ , and yet it had been nothing short of adorable when she shoved him down and straddled his lap and he’d just blinked at her in return. His eyes were glinting in a way that told her that he was intrigued by her, too, but she could also see the hesitance.

She still can, and her heart squeezes just a little.

She parts her lips, starts to say that they can stop, but then he breathes out, “ _Steve_ ,” as he tightens his grip, pulling her against his chest again.

She feels tingly, and airy, and the way his thumbs are slowly smoothing circles over her skin is kind of her favorite thing right now.

“My name is Steve,” he says as if to clarify, smiling, and she almost laughs.

“That wasn’t an answer I was looking for, _Steve_.”

He chuckles softly, and, _fuck_. He has dimples. “I may be a little anxious,” he admits, his voice soft, gravelly, and she only really has a second to feel _terrible_ before he continues with, “It’s not you.” He squeezes her hips again as if to emphasize this, and the tightness in her chest ebbs. He grins. “Though, the fact that you’re beautiful is certainly messing with my game.”

His voice sounds dry, almost sarcastic, as though he’s poking fun at himself.

“I’ve never done this,” he whispers, tipping his head up to kiss her jaw, like he can’t quite help himself. She holds his gaze, trying to tell if he’s being serious. And he must be able to tell this, because he adds, “Not all the way, at least.” He kisses her jaw again, and again, trailing his lips lower. If he’s planning to distract her from how much more weight his words just added to this, to _them_ , it almost works. She leans into the sensation, the soft, feather-light trace of his mouth making her tingle, driving her a little bit _crazy_. “I’ve had a hard time adjusting,” he murmurs into her skin, and she gasps as he brushes over her pulse. He pauses here, kissing her. “I came close, a few times, but… it never felt right.”

She swallows. It feels as if the room is spinning. “But this does?”

“Yeah.” He pulls back, grasps her chin and tips her head to meet his gaze. If he’s never been with a woman like this before, he’s certainly not acting like it. “Don’t know why, but this feels right.” His eyes are glinting. “ _You_ feel right.”

She waits for it. Waits for the cold rush of panic to hit her, for her flight response to kick in. This is something far more intimate than she ever imagined handling tonight, and she waits for her mind to tell her that it shouldn’t be her.

But… she wants it to be.

She’s not quite sure why, but she _does_.

“Okay,” she breathes, sliding off of his lap and onto her feet, and she takes his hands in his, guiding him off the chair. He’s holding her gaze as she starts to walk backwards, guiding them the few steps over to her room. She can tell that he’s still nervous, but some of it has ebbed, the anxiousness in his eyes quickly dissolving into something heavier, _hotter_. Her stomach flutters.

Then he’s grasping her face and slanting his lips over hers again, kissing her harder and deeper and with far more certainty, more urgency. A warmth bursts over her, fanning down her skin, and his large hands are on her, toying with the hem of her shirt. She thinks he’s hesitating again at first, and she slides her hands up his arms, squeezing gently, soothing him - until she feels his torso tense, then start to shake softly. She pauses against his lips.

Fuck.

He’s _laughing_.

She blinks, pulling away to find his eyes alight with amusement. “I said I came close to going all the way,” he points out, and there’s a little bit of a challenge in the way he arches an eyebrow ever so slightly. “I didn’t say I’ve never been with a woman at all.” Then he hooks an arm around her and _lifts her_ with this sort of growl, making her suck in a breath as he gently tips her on top of her unmade bed. She wants to laugh, but she mirrors his smirk instead, grasping at her shirt and camisole and arching her back as she tugs them over her head. His throat flexes as he swallows.

“I’ll be sure to significantly raise my expectations, then,” she teases, and he chuckles as he shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and then he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt. She wonders if he’s taking his time on purpose, or if she’s just imagining this because she’s so damn impatient.

But then he’s shrugging out of his shirt, too, tugging off of his undershirt, and she feels her lips part when she sees the hard dips of his chest. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“You look a little uncomfortable there,” he tells her, his voice even, almost nonchalant, but she can tell that he’s teasing. He reaches for her hips, gives them another light squeeze, and waits for her little nod of permission before slowly tugging her jeans and her panties down her legs. She knows she’s wet - she has been ever since they left the bar, honestly, but hearing him call her _beautiful_ had made her feel warmer, wetter, and the wisps of pleasure have been rippling over her ever since.

(She can’t remember the last time someone had called her beautiful.)

(She can’t remember if anyone ever _had_.)

“Have you ever…?” She trails off, letting her legs fall open a little wider, and the way his gaze fixes on her sex for a moment almost makes her _squirm_.

“Twice.” His answer is simple, honest. “Not sure if I was any good, but…”

He trails off, too, and she wants to laugh about it, except now she’s kind of really damn curious. She spreads her legs a little wider, slides her hand down her stomach to dip into her wetness, and his eyes grow stormier, hazier.

“Everyone needs practice.”

His lips curve at the corners, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to quip in reply. But then he’s kneeling in front of her, hooking her knee over his shoulder and sliding her closer to the edge of the bed, his breath rolling right over her folds, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. Then he licks a broad stripe over her center, moaning, and her back arches off of the bed.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

His strokes are a little hesitant, but only at first, until he pulls a soft moan from her lips when he puts the perfect amount of pressure on her clit, and this seems to encourage him. If he hadn’t said the words for himself, she wouldn’t have thought he was nervous at all. His strokes are tentative but firm, growing bolder with every lick, and he’s not hesitant at all about toying with her clit. Part of her thinks that maybe someone taught him this, but also, he just seems like the kind of person that would be a fucking _tease._

He reads her easily enough, too. Reads her little shifts and her soft noises and the cant of her hips, sucking harder when her body jolts at a particularly good stroke, easing off when her thigh starts to tense from all of the the sensations.

Her pleasure is climbing higher and higher, her body arching off the mattress as the wisps of her orgasm start to fan out over her skin, and, and -

She reaches down and pushes firmly at his shoulders, all but gasping as she tries to scoot her body away, and she should _not_ find it so adorable yet sexy at the same time when he blinks up at her in confusion, licking her wetness of of his lips. It takes every ounce of control not to drag him back to her sex.

“ _In me_ ,” she demands, her voice breathy and a little bit raspy as she starts to grasp at his shoulders, trying to tug him up her body. “I want you in me.”

“But you were –”

“ _I know_.” She was close, and she should be embarrassed by how quickly this perfect stranger had almost unraveled her, but she doesn’t care. Not at all. She wants to come with him inside of her, and if this is really his first time being in a woman, she knows he won’t last very long. She wants them to come together. She doesn’t know why, but she _does_ , and she thinks he wants it, too.

He seems to understand what she wants him to do next, because he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before pulling away, pushing down his jeans and then his boxers. She swallows, taking in the sight of him, and he straightens his shoulders ever so slightly. If not for the slight flush of color at the edges of his cheeks, she might not be able to tell that he’s a little nervous again under her stare. She licks her lips a little and meets his gaze, nods toward the pillows, and his lips twitch at the corners as he complies and climbs onto the bed, resting back against her headboard. She reaches for her jeans off of the floor, finds the condom tucked into her pocket, and she tears the package as she crawls across the bed to him.

He’s long, and _hard_ , and the noise he makes when she gently grasps his length and rolls her thumb over the wet tip is absolutely _delicious_.

“Lay back,” she tells him, and he does, sliding further down against the pillows as she climbs under her duvet. She’s not cold - she feels like she’s burning just under her skin, honestly - and based on the flush spreading over his skin, the way his chest is rising and falling with his heavy, uneven breaths, she knows he isn’t all that cold, either. Still. This little thing feels… _intimate_ , somehow, and she kind of wants this for him and little bit for herself, too.

She feels herself smirk, unable to quite help it when she leans down and licks along the underside of his length, and his entire body tenses, his hips nearly rolling off of the mattress as she closes around the tip and gives it a little suck. He hisses out a breath, and she eases off of him, licking her lips again.

“You uncomfortable there?” she asks, and she’s not - teasing, exactly. But even if she is, he seems to be amused, either way. “I’ve barely touched you.”

“No, but…” He swallows lightly, shrugs a shoulder. “You’re beautiful.” Her heart skips. _There’s that damn word again._ Then his smile softens ever so slightly. “Especially when I’m going down on you. That was more than enough for me.”

She wants to laugh, but her voice catches in her throat because he sounds so _genuine_ and she doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Perhaps I can remedy that.”

His body tenses again as she starts to roll the condom over him, and she gently scratches her nails over his hipbone as she slides it all the way down. _Fuck_ , the way his pleasure tugs over his face is kind of her favorite sight, at least for right now, and she thinks he’s already so close. She may not last very long, either.

She lifts herself over his length, and his hands slight up her thighs to settle over her hips as he blinks slowly up at her, as if half in a daze. She swallows lightly and leans over him, braces her hands against his chest as she kisses him once, twice, three times, licking at the seam of his lips and relishing in his small gasp as she pulls away. He squeezes her hips, wanting to draw her in again, but then she’s sinking over him and he lets out a long, low groan.

 _Fuck, fuck_.

She very nearly whimpers, feeling him stretch her, fill her, and her body is damn near trembling as he bottoms out. His grip on her is even tighter now, almost ridiculously so, but she doesn’t care that there will definitely be bruises there in the morning. She kind of likes the thought that he’ll have left his marks on her.

She keeps the roll of her hips slow at first, letting them both adjust, letting them both relish in how fucking _perfect_ it feels. She hardly ever uses that word, but there’s really nothing else to describe the way her body is tingling, vibrating in pleasure as the sensation ripples over her again and again in an unrelenting wave of sensations. She’s moaning louder now, broken and breathy, and again it seems as if her arousal is making him feel bolder, more sure of himself as he starts to move with her. She knows it’s kind of difficult in this position considering he’s never done this before, but, _fuck_ , it’s _more than enough_.

He’s deep and thick inside of her, and every little roll of his hips brings him deeper, somehow. He groans and rocks with her, thrusting up into her and brushing against that sweet spot that makes her keen. He tenses at the sound of pure pleasure she lets out, and she falls against his chest, grasping his face and kissing him hot and wet and needy. He won’t last much longer and neither will she, and she grasps one of his hands at her hips and drags it between her legs. He catches on quickly, his thumb finding her clit and rolling gently, and a shudder of pleasure rolls down her spine.

Oh, _oh_ \- he’s fumbling, not quite sure what to do, or maybe just too wrapped in sensations like she is to remember. But she doesn’t care. That feels fucking amazing and so does he, and she’s right there, _right there_ \- and then he slips his tongue past her lips, making his little noise as he kisses her softly, almost sweetly, and it’s kind of ridiculous that this is what pushes her over that edge.

She cries out against his lips as she unravels at the seams, her orgasm bursting over her, white-hot and consuming. He moans under her, his entire body growing taut, and a few thrusts later he’s following her over that edge.

… …

“You look like shit.”

She rolls her eyes, knowing that Clint can see this as he comes from behind her, and he snickers as he quickly catches up to her strides.

She’s sore. Perfectly, delicious sore, and she bites on the inside of her lip to resist the urge to smirk. She’ll tell Clint - probably - but certainly not when they have to meet with Nick in a few minutes regarding a new assignment. She’d rather not have to answer a dozen and one questions regarding her one night stand, or deal with all of the pointed, implicit (albeit rather clever) comments Clint will no doubt work into their work conversations.

She had woken up this morning to find Steve gone, and, as much as she’d wanted to be pissed by this, she simply _couldn’t_. She may not have been able to get a perfect read on him last night, but she’s absolutely certain she was right when she thought that he was one of the most decent guys she’d ever come across. He wasn’t the type to skip out without a trace, and she couldn’t help the stupid, giddy grin that spread across her lips when she walked into her kitchen to find breakfast waiting for her on the kitchen counter. She rarely kept actual groceries stocked in her kitchen, but he’d went across the street to the 24-hour diner she knows is there and come back with a few donuts, an egg and sausage sandwich, and a to-go cup of coffee and left it for her, along with a note he’d quickly written on the back of his receipt.

He’d apologized - twice - about having to leave, explained that he had an early meeting, and scrawled his phone number under his signature after calling her beautiful again and saying in a few more ridiculously charming words that he’d like to see her. She shouldn’t have found the gesture so fucking _cute_ , but it was, and somehow she knew it was genuine, too. Or maybe she just hoped.

(She doesn’t care. She’d _liked_ it, and maybe that means the difference doesn’t matter.)

Nick’s office door is cracked open in an invite to let themselves in, and Clint holds it open for her as she slides her sunglasses off and tucks them into her jacket pocket. There’s someone standing beside Nick in front of his desk, his back to the door, and she feels herself pause entirely when her gaze falls on the brown leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. She feels Clint bump into her, saying her name, but she sort of can’t _breathe_ right now.

Nick blinks his gaze over to her, no doubt taking in the slip in her almost nonchalant expression, and he raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“Captain Rogers, I’d like you to meet two of my best agents,” Nick introduces, and the man turns around and quickly catching sight of her.

He blinks, surprise starting to tug at the small, polite smile that had been on his lips. His bright, ridiculously blue eyes are locked with hers, his lips parting.

Rogers. _Steve_ Rogers.

 _Captain America_.

Somewhere through the thick haze of the alcohol that had been pulsing through her veins last night, she’d known that he looked familiar, yet she’d simply pushed it away. He was handsome - insanely so - yet she’d simply dismissed this as a coincidence. There were hundreds and thousands of people in the world, thousands of blonde-haired, blue-eyed men that could have his build, his gentlemanly smile. She couldn’t have known him already.

She presses her lips together, still not quite drawing her gaze away. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel right now, but she’s fairly certain it shouldn’t be a flutter of warmth, of _familiarity_. She shouldn’t feel so damn relieved to see him again, especially now, and especially like this.

(But she does. She _does_.)

“The Captain has agreed to join SHIELD,” Nick continues, and she swears she feels her heart skip when he adds, “and Natasha, you’ll be his partner for now.”

Steve blinks - once, twice, and then his lips twitch at the corners, and she very nearly lets out a laugh.

Oh, this is going to be fun.


	14. Bucky/Wanda - BDSM + dildos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** BDSM + begging or offering + coming in or on one’s partner + cunnilingus + dildos + exhibitionism + hot spots + intimacy + masturbation + multiple orgasms + pillow-biting + restraint + simultaneous orgasm + vaginal penetration + voice fetishization + voyeurism and vision themes + well-fucked   
> **for:** four anons
> 
> also inspired by [this gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/175397690097) and [ths gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/158377421772) (both nsfw)

_Stress relief_.

Those had been the only words Natasha scribbled on the back of the receipt when Wanda found the silicone toy tucked into her bag a few months ago, and she’d practically flushed to her _bones_ in embarrassment. But she hadn’t quite brought herself to ditch it in one of the motel rooms that they bounced between. It was still a _gift_ , for one; and she knows that, despite the teasing grin Natasha had given her at breakfast the next morning, the intention behind her gesture had been genuine. Being in hiding and on the run is not an easy situation for any of them, and though an urge like this should’ve been the _last_ thing on her mind, it _isn’t_. She needs a release, a distraction, and it’s natural for her to want to focus on something as primal and simple as sex rather than worry about the fact that they’re essentially being _hunted_.

She knows that James needs this, too. Needs something else to focus on, to relieve him from the dark, lingering corners of his mind.

“They could have walked in on you, doll.”

She mewls, her nails scratching at the cool, smooth surface of the breakfast counter that she’s bent over. Her skin is flushed and slick, her wetness sliding down her thighs and her muscles burning in the strain to keep herself upright as James presses against her from behind, slowly dragging the silicone toy in and out of her wet heat. Everything feels heavier, _hotter_ , with the soft material of her shawl wrapped around her eyes, forcing her to focus on all of the pleasure pressing down on her. She knows that, realistically, her powers could rip her wrists free of his belt if she wanted to, but she needs this. She needs every single part of her consumed by pleasure for her to feel truly _relieved_.

“Steve asked me about you again, while you were in here, touching yourself.”

His breath is a hot whisper against her ear, sending another burst of tingles sliding down her spine. He had been imagining her all day, knowing that she could latch onto her thoughts, that she’d be _drawn_ to him. He was tempting her to take a peak, and she almost gasped his arousal had pulled her in, wrapping around her thoughts, making her feel hazy and dizzy. She’s been on the edge all day, but as they moved between cities, they hadn’t had a second to spare. James went with Steve to grab what they could to hold them over in food, and with Natasha and Sam strategizing in the other room, Wanda had been left to simmer in James’s fantasies. She hadn’t even realized she started to touch herself, abandoning her tea as she slipped her hands over her folds right there at the kitchen counter.

He’s right. Anyone could have walked in on her, and the thrill had made it feel that much _sweeter_ when James had stripped her then and there. He’d still left the door unlocked, _teasing_ her, and then wrapped her shawl around her head and his belt around her wrists, leaving her bound and bared, knowing that anyone could see her like this.

(She knows James would never _really_ expose her like that, especially when she was so vulnerable, and it only made her feel safer to get lost in the fantasy.)

“He talks about you with so much affection, protectiveness. They all adore you.” She feels James’s lips curve in a smirk against her neck as he pushes the toy deeper, _deeper_ , brushing against that spot that has her spine arching, her legs shaking. “Imagine what they’d think of me if they find out about this, about _us_.”

His thrusts quicken just a little, but she’s held her on this dizzying edge for so long now that this little shift is enough. She bites down on her lower lip, _hard_ , and presses her lips against her forearm to muffle her cries as her orgasm bursts over her. She feels her knees start to give out, but he presses her just a little harder against the counter, leaning more of her weight on it as he pushes the toy in and out, working through her high.

She feels weightless, her lungs burning as she tries to catch her breath, and she mewls as he pulls out of her entirely, giving a teasing press of the silicone against her oversensitive bundle of nerves before drawing it away.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

His voice is tender and firm at the same time, and she shudders at the way his breath fans over the back of her neck.

“The door,” she breathes. “James, what if–”

He cuts her off with a kiss to the curve of her throat, winds his arms around her and lifts her up, and the slight burn in her legs starts to dissolve now that she’s not trying to hold herself up anymore. She feels herself being gently set on top of the bed, and then his hands are at her wrists, loosening the belt so that she can slip one hand free. His lips press against her forehead, against her cheek just under the edge of her shawl, against the underside of her jaw, and her heart skips when she feels the silicone toy being pressed into the palm of her freed hand.

“Another,” he commands.

“James–”

“ _Another_ , doll.” He curls her fingers around the toy. “I know you want another.”

She _does_. She really does. Even with the tremors of her orgasm still rippling over her, she’s drawn in by his desire, feels it unfurling in her mind and sliding across her skin, coursing through her. She swallows lightly as she shifts her hand, letting her legs fall open as she presses the dildo right at her entrance again. His low groan rumbles through the air as she pushes it into herself, and her body jolts, her sensitive folds already fluttering at the stimulation.

She keeps her rhythm slow at first, knowing that anything more would be too much, too fast, and she rolls her hips off of the mattress, sliding her other hand down her torso and towards her sex. She wants to touch herself, knows that James wants that, too, but the first graze of her fingers against her clit has her nearly keening out in a moan. She knows that the others are just on the other side of their wall, knows that they would be able to hear her if she cried out. And she knows James hasn’t left her at all to flick the lock into place for their room. She doesn’t want to draw their attention, but she thinks she may be too consumed in her pleasure to hold back much longer.

She feels James draw her other hand up, looping the belt around the metal bars of the headboard and fastening her wrist into place. He kisses just under the leather pressed against her skin, and she bites on the inside of her lip.

Then she gasps almost seconds later as she feels the firm press of James’s tongue on her, lapping from the dildo and up to flick at her clit.

Oh, _oh_.

“ _James_.”

He hums against her bundle of nerves, then wraps his lips around it, sucking softly, and she tugs her wrist against its binding, wanting to press her hand over her mouth to stifle herself. His sucks are gentle but unrelenting, pinning her down with pleasure, and she cranes her neck and bites into the pillow beneath her head as her spine arches off of the mattress. Her hand falters in its thrusts, her pleasure coiling, tightening, and then James is gently batting her hand away and grasping the dildo, working it a little faster and a little harder as he laps at her.

She bites down _hard_ into the pillow as her second orgasm washes over her, and he holds the toy in place, letting her folds tighten and flutter around it as he soothes her pulsing sex with his tongue. Her free hand twists into his hair and tightens, though she’s not quite sure if it’s to pull him away or to keep him in place. After a moment, though, he pulls away with a little kiss to her clit, and she releases her teeth from the pillow with a whimper, drawing in a breath.

The bed dips, his large, warm body pressing over hers, and she lets out this little whine when she feels his hard length press against her slick heat. His knuckles graze her folds as he wraps his hand around himself, and she hears his breath hitch as he starts to stroke. She can tell that he’s already slick, and just from the feel of him, she knows that he’s close. He won’t last long, but she can handle _one more_ and she wants it with him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” he says again, his voice rougher, deeper.

“ _You_.” She reaches for his hips, tries to tug him to her. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me.” He kisses her, and she can taste her wetness on his lips, his tongue, making her quiver. “You’ve always got me.”

His body is pulled taut, practically vibrating with the urge to sink into her all at once, to move hard and fast and urgent. But he takes his time, soothing her trembling, squirming body with gentle kisses over every inch of skin he can find as he slowly pushes in. His hand finds hers, threading their fingers together as he bottoms out, and every single part of her feels white-hot and hazy.

She can’t think of anything else but him - the stretch of him, the way he fills her, the way he’s pressed against her. She can’t think of anything but how almost every part of him is pressed against every part of her. His thrusts are slow but deep, brushing against that sweet spot again and again and _again_ , and she feels herself being pushed toward that dizzying edge once more. It doesn’t take long at all, and though this orgasm isn’t as smothering as the first two, it’s far more intense, far more _intimate_. He’s kissing her as she falls apart, licking into her mouth as she gasps for breath, his thrusts growing a little more erratic as she flutters and squeezes around him.

Then he groans, bites down on her lower lip as his warmth spills inside of her. It’s not the first time they’ve done this without protection, and though it’s never been entirely intentional (it’s more out of _impatience_ ) she knows that she can trust him. She _does_ trust him, and she wants to feel every single part of him.

“Fuck.” He pulls his mouth from hers, drops his head to her neck. “ _Fuck_.”

She bites down on her lower lip, feeling herself smile.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of.” His voice is gravelly and breathy, almost pleading. She mewls in response, unable to find her voice, to find the words, and James smiles against the curve of her neck. “ _Good_.” She blinks her eyes open as he lifts his head, the edges of her gaze still sort of blurry as she looks up into his eyes. “Thank you, doll.”

She _giggles_ , licks her lips as she shakes her head. “ _I_ should be thanking _you._ ”

He hums, dips his head down to kiss her. Then he pulls back and reaches up to unfasten the belt, letting it fall away as he gently grasps her wrist, rubbing his thumb along the indents the leather left in her skin. It’s _nothing_ , and whatever mark it may leave is easy to cover. She’d barely even thought of the discomfort.

She’d barely thought of anything _at all_. That’s kind of the point.

He wraps his arms around her, rolling them onto their sides and drawing her to his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking of,” she whispers, her lips quirking.

He chuckles softly, knowing that part of her is teasing. But still, his gaze is nothing short of adoration as he says, “ _You_.” Her heart skips. “Always you.”


	15. Bruce/Selina - exposure + messiness and markers of arousal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **prompt:** 17\. Begging or offering + 32. Coming in or on one’s partner + 49. Exposure + 72. Hand fetishization + 99. Messiness and markers of arousal + 117. Possessiveness or jealousy + 124. Rough sex + 149. Submission + 160. Urgency for sex + 163. Vaginal penetration  
>  **for:** floydianslip76 and two anons
> 
> also inspired by [this photo](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/175126603872) and [this gif](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/175123178449) (nsfw)

She’s felt his stare all evening, and more than once, she’s caught his eyes from across the room, her lips curving at the corners as he sipped on his glass of scotch and openly watched her. She wanted to be annoyed by it, wanted to be annoyed by the charming lines he’d no doubt given to anyone that realized his attention was elsewhere. He’s never had a problem making conversation at these galas before, yet he’s taken to simply _staring_ at her, acting every bit the smitten fiance and getting away with it while she indulges in questions about venues and centerpieces and silverware. She’s never been a fan of small talk, and especially not when it involves people attempting to pry in her life, but the annoyance she keeps expecting to come - just _doesn’t_.

She’s actually a little bit charmed by their attention, by _his_ attention, and honestly, that’s when she knows she’s kind of screwed right now.

She feels someone come to stand behind her, a large, warm, calloused hand sliding over the small of her back and up her spine, bared by the low dip of her dress. She bites on the inside of her lip, fighting off a shiver. “I missed you,” he murmurs against her temple, and her lips curve into a smile as she rolls her eyes, his comment drawing a few giggles from the young socialites that she’s been talking to for the better half of the hour. They were genuinely interested in discussing the art being featured in this gallery opening, at least before they’d started asking Selina about wedding preparations, and it’s been refreshing.

“Please.” She tilts her head to meet his eyes, finding them dark and hazy. _Hungry_. “It’s only been an hour.”

“An hour and twenty-four minutes, actually,” he corrects, earning a few more giggles from the girls, and Selina really _shouldn’t_ be so charmed right now. Not when she knows that he’s saying things like this - playing the doting, enamored fiance - in hopes of getting them out of this evening as soon as possible.

But the thing is? She also knows that he _means_ it. That he’s been keeping track of the time since they were whisked away from each other to mingle, and she would be lying if she said she hasn’t been counting down the minutes until it was appropriately acceptable for them to leave. If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them _all_ , really. And as much as she loves putting on something silky and sexy for Bruce to peel her out of later, she’d much rather have stayed home.

( _God_ , she’s becoming as much of a home body as he is.)

“You were supposed to be paying attention to the artwork, not the clock,” she teases, leaning into his touch just a little bit more. He rubs a small circle in her skin with his thumb and she hums, just low enough for only him to hear.

“ _Mm_.” He brushes his lips to her temple. “You were being distracting.”

“I was _talking_.”

His breath is warm as it fans over her ear, making her feel tingly, hazy. She vaguely remembers to say goodbye when the girls all giggle and say that they’ll catch up with her later, and then Bruce brings his hand around to her stomach and presses her flushed against him, nipping at the shell of her ear. Her gaze slides across the room, and no, no one is paying them attention _right now_. But still. Bruce has never been one for public affection, but right now, he doesn’t seem to care at all about where they are, who might be watching.

He tucks her under his arm, swiftly guiding her toward one of the back exits of the gallery, and her heels echo against the marbled floors as he guides her down the shadowed hallway. Technically, they’re not allowed to stray past the gallery and into the rest of the museum for the rest of the evening, but she knows that there’s a private, family bathroom at the other end of this hallway, and she’s not at all surprised when Bruce pulls her into it, clicking the lock into place behind them.

“After this, we’re going home,” he tells her, his tone firm.

She arches an eyebrow. “Why not just leave now?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants him to say it, though.

“Because I can’t wait that long,” he growls, reaching her in one long stride and pinning the small of her back against the edge of the sink counter as he kisses her, hard and hungry and _deep_. She lets out this little noise from the back of her throat, winds her arms around him and parts her lips when he licks at them.

One of his large, calloused hands is smoothing down her back, his fingers trailing over the curve of her spine, and her lips tug into a smirk at the touch. She’d worn this dress on purpose, knowing how much it drives him crazy when she bares her skin like this. Part of it is because of jealousy, though not out of genuine belief that she _wants_ someone to flirt with her, or that she’d even entertain the idea. She knows that he just doesn’t like all of the attention that it brings, and the fact that men think they can get away with saying something shady and almost always _shitty_ simply because of what she’s wearing.

But part of what drives him crazy is because of how much he wants to touch her. She knows he’s spent all night staring at her back, imagining his nails dragging across her skin in that way that she _loves_ , imagining how soft and warm and pliant she always feels under his touch,

He draws his lips from hers, kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the top of her eyelid. “Turn around,” he tells her.

Her heart sort of skips in her chest as she holds his gaze. His eyes are bright and almost _mischievous_ , and she bites on the inside of her lip to keep from smiling too widely. He’s always so damn composed, so damn _serious_ , but she kind of loves it at the same time. She loves that she’s the only person he’ll be this playful with.

“Turn around,” he repeats after another moment, and, other than a challenging arch of an eyebrow, she doesn’t try to resist.

She turns around slowly, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, and she presses her palms flat against the cold, smooth marble and bends forward a little, bracing herself against the counter. His gaze flicks down the dip of her cleavage at this angle, his lips twitching at the corners, and she feels a warmth shoot through her veins. It’s kind of ridiculous how she could feel so turned on by this - so vulnerable yet _empowered_ all at once, knowing that she has this kind of hold over him, even as she’s bent over at his command.

Slowly, _teasingly_ , he reaches down and gathers the hem of her dress in his fingers, lets his knuckles drag against her thighs through the thin material of her stockings as he pushes her dress up higher. He bunches it just over her breasts, and she shivers lightly as he pushes her now-bared torso flat against the counter, then reaches for the lace waistband of her panties and drags them down the curve of her ass. She’s _wet_ , and honestly, she can’t even pretend to be embarrassed by it. Not with Bruce.

Her hips jump as he brushes two fingers over the slick folds of her sex, rubbing gently, and he bends himself over her to kiss the back of her neck.

“The next time you try to talk me into being social, remind me to say _no_.”

She breathes out a laugh, which tapers off at the end as his fingers find her little bundle of nerves, massaging it gently. _Fuck_ , she’s so wet that he has to wipe some of it off on the inside of her thigh before finding her clit again to tease it. “I’d just leave you at home and come by myself,” she taunts, and because she knows the man she loves, she’s not surprised when he gives her little bundle a soft pinch, making her suck in a gasp.

“I’d make sure you were too exhausted to leave,” he promises, and her heart flutters, her eyes falling closed. “I’d make sure you couldn’t get out of bed.”

“Promises, promises,” she breathes out, and then her spine is arching off of the counter as he sinks two fingers into her without warning, her nails scratching at the marble as she catches his gaze again in the reflection. She looks just as desperate as she _feels_ , and, judging by how hard the front of his slacks feel pressed against her hip, she knows he’s wound up just as tightly.

He _knows_ her, knows her body like the back of his hand. He knows that toying with her clit is the quickest way to build up her pleasure, that constant circles and just a little bit of pressure will have her shaking, biting back pleas of _more_. She rolls her hips back, trying to find his rhythm, but he’s toying with her, never quite letting her find it, and it’s driving her _crazy_.

“Fuck.” She lets her forehead fall against her forearm. “ _Fuck me_ , Bruce.”

She hears him groan softly, and she very nearly whimpers when he pulls his fingers out, circles her flit once, twice, three times, and then sinks three fingers back into her. She lets out a soft, sharp cry, and then his thumb presses against her bundle of nerves, circling, and she’s right there, _right there_ –

His lips brush against the back of her neck in another soft, feather-light kiss as her orgasm bursts over her, his mouth lingering, nipping at her skin as he stills his hand, letting her rock back against his fingers, her sex tightening around them. She can feel her wetness sliding down the inside of her thighs, and it’s a good thing she wore a floor-length gown, because her stockings are probably ruined now.

She mewls as he draws his hand back, and she lifts her head, catching his stare in the reflection as he wraps his lips around his fingers, sucking her release off. Her heart stutters in her chest, and, even as the tremors of her orgasm ripple over her, she knows she wants _more_. Fuck, she always wants _more_ from this man. She rolls her hip, pressing back against the hard front of his slacks, and draws his hand from his lips and reaches for his belt.

“I don’t have anything with me,” he warns.

“I don’t _care_.” She practically hisses it in frustration, and honestly, she can’t even be bothered by the amused twitch of his lips. No, this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone without protection - because they’re both so damn _impatient_ \- but she still gets the same sort of rush at the idea of it, at the anticipation of feeling him bare against her, stretching her, pressing against her folds.

He undoes the buckle of his belt and tugs the zipper of his slacks down, and she can’t quite help the way she licks her lips when he pulls his length out. Then her eyes dart up to his, and a stupid warmth spreads across her cheeks.

“Hi, Cat.”

She wants to laugh. “Hi, Bat.”

He guides his length to her folds and rolls his hips slowly, sliding through her slickness. He leans over, kisses the top of her hair. “I love you.”

“ _Sap_ ,” she teases, and he smiles - soft and small, but stupidly, giddily _bright_ \- and her heart flutters in her chest. “I love you, too.”

She reaches back, hooks a hand over the back of his neck and pulls his lips to hers as he presses right at her entrance, and then he’s pushing into her, licking into her mouth when she parts it in a moan. The counter is biting into her hips but even that feels fucking _amazing_ right now, her muscles quivering, tightening in pleasure as he pulls out and then back in, faster, deeper.

He presses one hand against the flat of her stomach and slides up and under her dress, fingers fumbling to squeeze one of her breasts, like he can’t quite help but want to touch her, to feel every inch of her skin against every inch of his. His other hand tucks under her lacy garter belt, finding the spot just over her left hipbone that always, _always_ makes a shudder of pleasure roll down her spine. She feels dizzy and light and weightless, and even the hard edge of the counter pressing into her skin isn’t enough to cut through the haze of arousal.

She arches her spine, nails scratching at his neck, digging into his skin. He drops his face into the curve of her shoulder, muffling a groan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growls, pressing his hand flat against her thrumming heart.

She’s close, and she knows he is, too, and he slides his hand from her hip and between her legs, finding her slick clit and circling, making her cry out.

White-hot pleasure pulses over her as her body arches against his, trembling and shaking, and he kisses the racing pulse in her neck with a groan as she flutters and tightens around him. He thrusts in a little harder, scratching down her stomach in a sharp bite of pleasure as he chases his high, following her over that edge a few thrusts later. She whimpers as she feels his warmth spill inside her, making a fresh burst of pleasure ripple through her veins as their orgasms wash over them.

She feels as if her muscles are _melting_ , feels weightless, boneless, and the only thing really keeping her from sagging against the counter is Bruce’s arms wrapped around her, holding her against his chest. She feels his lips brush against the shell of her ear, feels his teeth playfully nip at her lobe.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she starts to float back down from her high, their heavy breaths filling the small space of the bathroom, and she feels a tingle in her stomach as she catches sight of herself in the reflection. Her skin is flushed all over, her lips a little puffy and swollen, her dress bunched and twisted around her torso, and she knows that she must look as wet and filthy as she feels where Bruce is still inside her, their wetness slowly sliding down her legs.

She looks _fucked_. Truly, thoroughly fucked.

“We’ll have to skip our goodbyes,” he says, his voice rough and a little bit raspy as he lifts his hand, traces the curve of his cheek with his knuckles. “Because the sight of you like this will no doubt upstage every piece of art in that exhibit.”

She breathes out a laugh, turns her head to kiss the line of his jaw.

“Then take me home, darling.”


End file.
